


A Warm Light

by cakeisnotpie



Series: Clint and Phil White Collar AU [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), White Collar
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, Crimes & Criminals, Inspired by White Collar, Loki's still a dick, M/M, con man Clint, white collar au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-13 23:17:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5720737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Darcy's friend Dr. Jane Foster comes across some questionable information at her company, the White Collar Division steps in to investigate what might be an elaborate con, one so big that two people have been killed to keep it secret. Reformed art thief Clint Barton helps Special Agent Phil Coulson track down the truth while juggling an old friend who arrives and wants Clint to get back in the game. Can Clint con his way out of the danger that looms before them all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, I'm rolling on the second in this White Collar inspired AU series. As before, you don't have to know the show White Collar to understand this, nor do you have to read the first one, although it sets up the situation Clint is in. Hope you enjoy!!!

Dr. Jane Foster turned off the lamp over her workspace and took her large canvas purse out of the cabinet by her desk. Ever so casually, but not really, she dug for her keys which had migrated to the bottom of the bag. Picking up her coffee cup, she walked over to the sink, dumped the dregs and rinsed it out, leaving it upside down to drain. 

 

“Night,” she called to the only other person in the room, Dr. Donald Blake, a visiting scientist from the European headquarters. Her voice wavered but she didn’t, striding out of the room to the elevator bank; she stopped her foot tapping as soon as she noticed the nervous energy leaking out. 

 

“Dr. Foster.” Dr. Blake came out of the doorway, his tall frame looming over Jane’s petite height. He was a big man, buff and larger-than-life; she’d be attracted to him if she wasn’t terrified of everyone and everything at the moment. All she could think of was how easy it would be for him to use those well-muscled arms to stop her, hold her still. 

 

“Y-yes?” She managed to stammer out, stepping back to look up at him. He had gorgeous blue eyes and such a kind face; she truly hoped he wasn’t involved in any of this. 

 

“I was wondering … I mean … Would you like to have a cup of coffee sometime?” His smile lit up his face, the self- doubt all that more appealing. “Maybe tomorrow we could go to that place around the corner? They have good scones.”

 

He knew she liked scones? Jane flushed as she realized he might have been watching her for a different reason. “Yes. Yes, I’d like that. Tomorrow. Afternoon break time?” 

 

If possible, his grin widened and his eyes sparkled. “I would like that very much. It’s a date.”

 

“A date,” she repeated then kicked herself mentally for the lame reply. 

 

The elevator dinged and the door opened. “Have a good evening,” Dr. Blake said, nodding to the waiting lift. 

 

“You too,” she said, stepping inside. Dropping her head back against the mirrored interior, she closed her eyes and counted the seconds of descent, no stops this long after quitting time, just a straight shot down to the lobby. As soon as the doors opened, she was out, heading for the glass doors that led to the sidewalk and the busy New York street outside. 

 

“Working late, Dr. Foster?” The security guard called. An older gentleman, Stu always spoke to her as she left, sometimes even helping her hail a cab. “Need a lift?”

 

“As always, Stu,” she replied. “Thanks, but I’m good tonight. Still close enough to rush hour for the subway to be safe.”

 

“Yeah, there’s enough light out now, but autumn is coming soon. You should cut out earlier.” Same warning every time, Stu hurried past her and held the door open. “You know I worry.”

 

“And you know I appreciate it.” She nodded his way. “Thank you.”

 

“Anytime, Doc.”

 

She could breathe easier now, outside and merging in with the thinning crowd of workers making their way home for the evening. Nothing out of the ordinary, just heading to the metro stop to catch the same train she rode every day. She wasn’t carrying proprietal materials that could get her arrested for theft. She wasn’t about to violate all her confidentiality agreements to hand over a jump drive filled with information that could get her bosses thrown in jail. 

 

And, as she gripped the hand strap and the subway car accelerated, she prayed to any god that would listen that she wasn’t going to end up dead just like Regina and Mitch.

* * *

 

“You know, buying me coffee is not going to work.” Phil picked up the warm cup and sniffed the fragrant steam. He sipped; two creams and raw sugar. Just how he liked it. “You’re not on the Belmont case. You can’t even go near that one, not with your history with the Hassam.”

With a careless shrug, Barton sat down in the chair across from Phil’s desk and drank a long swallow of his own coffee. Today’s grey suit came complete with a vest and tiny blue pinstripes, matching tie perfectly looped in a windsor knot. Phil swore that Barton had worn a new suit every day for the six weeks he’d been working with the White Collar division. 

“The painting’s a fake.” He gave one of those little smirks that drove Phil to distraction. “Someone went to a lot of trouble for nothing.” 

Phil sighed; he’d learned enough in the last few weeks to know that Barton would dole out information in his own time. Best just to let him talk. “And you know this because?”

“I didn’t steal it,” Barton clarified. “Last I heard, it was in a private collection. Have the insurance company check whoever authenticated the purchase. They can save themselves a pay out that way.” 

“You really enjoy being right,” Phil teased. Their banter had only gotten easier as they spent more time together; Phil should be worried, but he’d also been closing cases faster than before, and he was willing to risk Barton’s charm to put away the bad guys. “I’ll get Rogers on it.”

“Agent Coulson?” Darcy paused in the doorway, hovering in that way she had where she didn’t want to interrupt but she really did. “If you have a minute?”

“Of course,” Phil replied. Now that Darcy was a more permanent fixture in the office, her internship mutated into a paid position, she was a member of the family.

Barton stood, offering her the chair; she glared at him as she came in and sat down. She’d taken it to heart that he brought coffee in every day instead of drinking from the pot she made in the mornings. Somehow, Darcy was immune to the patented Barton charm; she simply didn’t buy what Barton was selling.  

“Shut the door, would you, Clint?” she asked, not looking up, to busy pawing through the piece of luggage she called a purse. The black straw bag was battered, one of the snaps missing, a long mysterious green stain on the bottom. Items began appearing on Phil’s desk -- lipstick case, four gel pens, a banged up ipod, a yellow paper wrapped tampon, a mass of keys with a can of mace hanging off the mini donut ring. Phil caught Barton’s amused glance as he leaned back against the door then Darcy crowed as she came up with a jump drive. “Here it is. Look, she could get in real trouble for this, so I promised her immunity if it came to prosecution. Kind of forced her into coming to us for help, but I have a gut feeling she’s in real danger.”

Tamping down on the niggle of frustration that always came when dealing with Darcy, Phil calmly said, “Start from the beginning. Who are we talking about and what’s on the drive?”

“Right. Just the facts,” Darcy nodded. “I was Jane’s TA last year before I got this gig. Not that I know anything about physics, but, hey, I was the only applicant and I needed the cash. She teaches at the school and works over at Johtun Corp, one of those academia and business sharing things John Jay U does. Anyway, we still have lunch sometimes and she’s been looking really squirrely lately, even more agitated than usual … she’s kind of a classic absent minded prof but not really, just so caught up in her work that she doesn’t have time to think about things like eating regularly.”

“Okay. So this Jane have a last name?” Phil asked.

“Oh, Foster. Dr. Jane Foster. She’s brilliant, an astrophysicist. Quantum field generators, Einsten bridges, I don’t understand any of it, but Johtun really wined and dined her to get her to come onboard. She was happy researching and teaching.” Darcy sat forward in the chair, suddenly serious. “Whatever’s on that drive? Jane’s convinced two people have died because of the information. Something about a new energy source.”

“Did you look at the files?” Phil asked. Behind Darcy, he saw Barton wince at the tone; Phil’s voice was sharp.

“Hey! I’m the go-between. No need to interrogate me,” Darcy protested. “Jane didn’t want to risk getting close to the Feds, so I delivered it for her.”

It didn’t escape Phil that Darcy hadn’t answered the question, but he did doubt she’d had the drive in her laptop at some point. “Okay, I’ll look at it, but you are going to keep your nose out of it whether anything comes from it or not, got it?”

“Aye, aye, Special Agent Man!” Darcy stood and swept the rest of her stuff back into her purse. “Of course, Jane will only talk to me, so …”

“Out.” Phil shooed her to leave the office. “Give me a chance to check it out.”

Barton opened the door to let Darcy leave then sauntered over to stand behind Phil’s chair, hand close to Phil’s shoulder as he leaned down to look at the computer screen. Phil looked up and raised an eyebrow Barton’s way, but all he got in response was a wicked grin and a not-so innocent shrug. So he ignored the awareness of Barton’s body hanging over him and popped the drive in the USB port; he clicked the file entitled Warm Light. 

“Are they talking about … cold fusion?” Barton asked, bending down for a better look at the screen. “It’s been rumored for a long time that a number of companies were close; the first one would make billions.”

“If they can figure out how to contain it,” Phil said. “I saw this show on the Science Channel about it.”  He reached for the phone and dialed. “Nick?” he said when his boss picked up the phone. “I’ve got something you need to see.”

* * *

 

One thing Clint enjoyed was when Coulson worked a room. The man was a natural at running a meeting in a way that grabbed everyone’s attention and made it clear he was in charge without being too abrasive. It was all in Coulson’s body language, his habit of unbuttoning his jacket and resting his hands on his hips while talking, a measure of dominance mixed with casualness. Clint could sit and watch Coulson, cataloguing every move, making a study of the man who had caught him and gotten him released from prison.

“Maria, what do you have on Johtun?” As soon as he’d realized the implications, Coulson had mobilized the troops, divvying up the information gathering that needed to happen.

“A subsidiary of World Tree Industries, Johtun is an energy company that, until recently, was primarily focused on solar and waste-to-energy, investing heavily in political lobbying to get green credits to pay for their research. Unfortunately, costs escalated and they had nothing in the way of results to show, so the government money was cut off. You might remember the news stories about the CEO Jorge Laufey living a lavish lifestyle; quite a little tempest in a teapot for a cycle or two.” Hill nodded to the screen and Coulson put up a company chart. “According to sources, they purchased the rights to Andrea Rossi’s E-cat, a process of low energy nuclear reaction that may or may not work depending on which scientist you talk to. They pretty much put all their eggs in the cold fusion basket, borrowing from other WT companies to stay afloat.”

“I thought that was a hoax?” Rogers asked, propping his elbows on the table. “Cold fusion, that is. Pops up every now and then, someone claims to have solved the problem, but it’s never verifiable.”

“Holy Grail of energy,” Clint said. “Clean, safe, renewable, and green. That’s bound to attract con artists; lots of money from hopeful investors just waiting to be taken. Most people believe Rossi is one of them.”

“Is he?” Coulson turned his blue eyes on Clint, all business. 

“Honestly, I don’t know. The E-cat appears to work; it uses a nickel and hydrogen mixture, heats it, and generates energy. Problem is the secret mix of catalysts. Anytime part of a process is secret, I see a red flag. He wouldn’t even tell the reviewers what was in the mix.” Clint had his doubts. “If you had a cold fusion generator, wouldn’t you be making money already?”

“Is there anything you don’t know?” Hill asked him. Less prickly now, Hill still didn’t trust him. Probably never would, but Clint counted the fact that she occasionally brought him coffee as a win. “Probably can fill us in on World Tree too.”

“Jack of all trades,” Clint said with a shrug. He had to know enough to appear knowledgeable about lots of subjects; it helped that he enjoyed learning new things. “And yeah, I know about World Tree. The main company is ARH, Asgardian Royal Holdings. Headquartered in Denmark, privately owned and controlled by one family, the Odinsons. Most of the other divisions, Johtun included, were products of hostile takeovers; a few, like Midden Guard, are partnerships. The Odisons are richer than the Queen of England and Bill Gates combined. Big art collectors, especially anything from the Viking period, although they already own more Anglo-Saxons texts than the British Library.”

“Of course,” Hill muttered. “And you probably sold them a copy of  _ Beowulf _ .”

“There’s only one manuscript, the Cotton Vitellius or Newell Codex; it’s on display in London. But I did have a hand in their ownership of the Exeter Book,” he answered. 

“If you’re done showing off?” Coulson asked; Clint smirked and tilted back in his chair, content that his point was made. “Okay, Steve, did you chase down your source in the Department of Energy?”

“Gabe is working on gathering the details, but he was able to verify that Johtun has applied for approval of the E-cat. They’ve submitted a number of independent studies to show it’s safe, the  projected uses and costs. According to Gabe, the application is on the fast track for approval; lots of people are very excited about it and the paperwork is all in order; it just has to pass next week’s commission meeting and then it’s green lit for the market.” Steve shuffled through his notes. “Only two commissioners have raised any real objections and the studies seem to directly address the concerns.”

“Which brings us to the crux of the problem.” Coulson took over. “I’m not a scientist; but this series of emails between the CFO, Hans Gerrod, and the Head of Product Development, Igrid Utgard, are pretty damn telling. ‘Push the labs for results,’ ‘keep on top of it,’ and ‘get what we want.’ The money statement is here.”

The email filled the screen:  _ Our contact says all is taken care of on his end. We shall have the results we wish and the vote is assured. There are just a few loose ends to tie up. Be sure and delete all communiques and use the standard payment scale.  _

“They’re ginning the results to ensure they get through the approval process. Betting that they’ll make enough money in the first sales to save the company,” Rogers said. “Wonder what the testing showed?”

“Whatever it is, it may be worth killing for.” Two pictures replaced the email. The one on the left was an older redheaded  white woman, black frame glasses on her face and a paisley shirt under a periwinkle jacket. On the right, a dark skinned male, slightly overweight, in a white shirt and grey tie. “Regina Dorchester. Secretarial pool at Johtun. Reported missing by her neighbor two weeks ago; the dog barking alerted the other tenants. Mitchell Pace, researcher at Nordic Labs, a testing facility in upstate New York. Died in a car accident six days ago; his SUV went off the road on a sunny day.”

“Loose ends to tie up,” Hill said. “Want to bet where Dorchester worked and that Nordic labs were the ones who did some of the testing? If it’s big enough to kill for, the downside of this tech has to be that much worse.”

“I’ve already got Darcy gathering the files from the local police on the cases. Steve, you’ll coordinate with the lead cops and follow up,” Phil said. “We need gather as much information as we can to get a  warrant.” 

“Subsidiaries of World Tree are subject to oversight visits,” Clint said. “Maybe take a little peek under the hood.”

“And let me guess, you have a contact who make the call.” Why Phil bothered to ask, he didn’t know. Of course, Clint would have a way into Johtun. “Make it a two man team. You’re going in as my assistant.” 

* * *

 

“Clint!” Tony called, waving a glass towards the entryway. “Come, have a drink with us.” 

It had become a ritual between them. If both Tony and Clint were in the house during the cocktail hour, inevitably they’d end up in the downstairs salon, a couple of drinks between them. Clint brought the cigars and Tony provided the scotch. Sometimes, Pepper joined them, but mostly it was just the two of them, Tony chattering on about just about anything that came to mind or Clint telling exaggerated stories of past exploits. Clint was beginning to suspect that Stark had never had this kind of friendship before, casual sharing of life with someone who made him laugh and didn’t ask for anything in return. Sometimes Clint would lay awake at night and worry about the fact that he’d probably end up taking advantage of Tony at some point because that was what he did. Utilize every advantage. Problem was, he kind of liked the billionaire who pretended to be a wastrel playboy. 

“Clint!” Tony reached a full martini glass out as Clint entered the room. “Rhodey, Clint Barton. Clint, Rhodey.”

Ah, Clint thought, the illusive Colonel James Rhodes. So many of Tony’s favorite stories involved dragging his friend into all sorts of trouble. Clint held out his hand to the handsome dark-skinned man. Every inch a military man even when wearing khakis and a green polo shirt, Rhodes stood tall and eyed Clint from head-to-toe; Clint steeled himself for the shovel speech he knew was about to come his way. 

“Good to finally meet you,” Rhodes said. “Tony’s been telling me all about you.”

Implied threat received, Clint nodded in return. “And I’ve heard a lot about you. Did he really talk you into cliff diving in Acapulco in a thunderstorm?”

“It was a light rain,” Rhodes answered, raising an eyebrow at Tony. “Most of his stories are exaggerated, you’ll discover. He told me you stole a Tintoretto from the Prada in Madrid during the opening of the exhibit.”

“Nah, it was the night after.” Clint winked. “The switch during the show was a red herring.”

“Boys, boys,” Tony interrupted. “I’m too much of a confident heterosexual to get into a dick measuring contest with my only two friends. Play nice or drink more, whichever works.” He picked up a bottle of Grey Goose and began to mix another martini. “So where’s Agent this fine evening? He unlatch the shackles for the night?”

“We caught a new case today so Coulson’s still at the office. Rogers drove me home; he had a date with a very hot blonde gallery owner.” Clint sipped his dirty martini and enjoyed the salty olive taste. 

“Clint’s got the hots for his handler,” Tony told Rhodes as he shook the steel container and poured another drink. “Thinks I haven’t notice all the stolen looks and appreciative glances. It’s like a rom com in here sometimes.”

“That would be Special Agent Phil Coulson of the FBI,” Clint told Rhodes who looked confused. “The man who got me out of prison and gave me this.” He pulled up his pants leg to show the tracking anklet that blinked green. “Tony has decided since his love life sucks at the moment that he’s going to get involved with my non-existent one.”

“Ah, that I understand well.” For a moment, the two men connected in their annoyance with Tony’s interference in their lives. Stark meant well, but he didn’t understand the meaning of the word limits. “He booked a reception venue one time after I’d been on one date with a woman.”

“It was perfect. The Air and Space Museum gets booked up fast in their few open spots. You and Carol would have looked wonderful standing beneath the Spirit of St. Louis,” Tony objected. “Anyway, you were the one who messed that up. So, new case? Anything I can help you with?” Tony turned to Clint.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you about green energy. I remember reading an article about how you were working on some new ideas for clean energy back at MIT. Great picture of you with big hair right in the middle of it.” Clint let Tony fill up his glass and then sat down in one of the overstuffed arm chairs. “You still keep up with the field?”

“Oh, God, the 80s. What was I thinking?” Tony perched on the arm of the sofa. “Yeah, I had this crazy notion to use reactor technology but I couldn’t find a material that would work for the core. Maybe one day I can get back to that if the world would stop blowing the hell out of itself.”

“There’s a company that’s about to get approval for a cold fusion process,” Rhodes said. “Johtun, I think. They’re sniffing around the Joint Chiefs to come see a trial demonstration. The military would be very interested in something stable and portable.”

“Johtun?” Tony snorted. “They can’t tell their ass from a hole in the ground. World Tree got them for a song and dance because everything they touch freezes over. If they’ve figured out cold fusion, I’ll eat my hat. Or Clint’s hat, since I don’t wear one.”

“Maybe they bought a design?” Clint tossed out. 

“Have you met these guys?” Tony shook his head. “Their head of development is a sixty-year-old ex-Olympic female skier whose idea of a product is to take an existing idea, change one thing, and slap a new-and-improved sticker on it. The CEO is a moose of a guy, tall, big, bushy beard, who prefers to fire employees rather than train them. Yeah, no. Even if they found a working prototype on the side of the road, they’d never be able to get through the approval process.” 

“You’re probably right,” Clint agreed. He’d taken a look at the profiles of the major players at Johtun and Tony had a good read on them. 

“Is someone out there saying they’ve solved cold fusion?” Rhodes asked. Bright, that’s what he was. Clint was going to have to watch out for the Colonel. 

“Sorry, I can’t discuss the case, of course,” Clint replied. “But, if they were, I’d be inclined to believe it was a money raising scheme.”

“Lots of con men out there,” Rhodes said, looking straight at Clint. “Someone’s got to keep an eye out.”

Oh, yes, Clint thought. Message received.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does Phil always end up in situations like this? A suspicious woman, a familiar face, and more danger wait just around the corner.

The coffee machine stopped halfway through the pot, the drips slowing to a maddening pace. Phil huffed and spun his mug around, debating whether to take the carafe out now and risk making a mess or wait to see if the damn thing finished its cycle. He needed to get a new one but working long hours meant little time to run by Best Buy and grab another one. All he wanted right now was his first hit to get his brain jump started; he wanted to go over his notes one more time to help him get ready. Phil liked to do his homework before a case.

The doorbell rang and he glanced at the clock. 7:04 a.m. There was only one person who’d be on his front stoop this early if for no other reason than to annoy him. Clint showed up often enough that they’d made an exception to his designated two mile radius as long as Clint called the office before heading over to Phil’s. Leaving the coffee brewing, he walked down the hallway and opened the door to find Clint Barton lounging against the wrought iron railing, a garment bag over his arm. No hat this morning, Phil noted, and Clint’s suit was a nondescript navy, too big across the shoulders, shirt slightly wrinkled.

“Here,” Clint said, offering Phil a paper cup. “Mine’s better” He didn’t wait for an invitation, pushing past Phil and heading into the living room, carrying a garment bag. “And for once, dress nice. If I need backup, you’ll have to look the part.”

“What’s wrong with my suit?” Phil asked, tugging at the lapels of his favorite grey pinstripe.

Clint glanced up quickly, stopped, and did a second take. Sitting his coffee cup down on the stained ring on the end table, he stepped over to Phil and ran his hands under the lapels, across the shoulders, and down the arms. “Is this Dolce & Gabbana?”

“I do know the difference between a cheap suit and a designer one,” Phil said, thoroughly enjoying catching Barton out. “A classic cut can last a long time if you take care of it.”

“Point to you, Coulson,” Barton said with a grin. “Nice suit. But the tie has to go. I’ve got a purple silk one here that will make the stripe pop. Takes a confident man to wear a bright color. It’ll bring out the gold in your eyes.”

Since he’d won that round, Phil accepted the tie, replacing his own blue one and tying a perfect Windsor knot on the first try. He had to admit it did make the whole outfit look more up-to-date. As he turned away from the beveled mirror he used in the entryway for a final check, he saw Clint lounging against the wall, sipping slowly from his cup, watching Phil’s every move.

“Well?” Phil asked. “Do I pass muster?”

“You’ll pass,” Clint conceded. 

* * *

 

“Um, Houston? We have a problem.” Clint’s voice came in loud and clear over the earpiece. He’d just exited the elevator. “Change of plans.”

“Brian Carson,” a masculine voice said. “When I heard a group from World Tree was coming, I should have expected you.”

“Dr. Blake,” Clint said. “It’s nice to see you again. I didn’t realize you were in the States.”

“I wanted to work with Dr. Foster; she’s a brilliant scientist,” Dr. Blake replied. 

“Steve, get that list of employees and find this guy,” Phil hissed. He dragged his glasses from his pocket and straightened his tie. “Damn Barton and all of his past exploits.”

“Who are you working for now? Carver or Jorgenson? I remember you weren’t too keen on either,” Blake was saying. 

“Actually, they sent Robinson. I guess Odin means business. Soon as he gets here, we’ll get started” 

“Fuck,” Phil muttered under his breath. Robinson was the identity they’d set up for Clint. He grabbed one of the slim pens with trackers and a lapel pin microphone. “I’m going to have to go in.”

“Got it,” Steve said, glancing at his monitor. “Dr. Donald Blake, M.D. Has a medical degree from John Hopkins and has been working in R&D at World Tree on the effects of radiation on the human body. Came to Johtun back in April as part of an exchange.” 

“At least now we know another of Clint’s aliases,” Maria said. “I’ll run a background on it while you go save his ass.”

Somehow, that didn’t make Phil feel any better.

* * *

 

“Mr. Robinson!” Humbert Gunar, CEO of Johtun, stood and offered Phil his hand as they walked into the corner office. Despite the size of the room, the furniture was Spartan, generic metal desk and stackable chairs strew around a battered conference table. The view from the windows was obscured by metal blinds, some bent and others tilted. Shelves filled with manuals and binders filled one whole wall, haphazardly stacked in no particular order. “I’m delighted to meet you. Anything we can do for World Tree, anything at all!”

Nervous. Clint got that from the bead of sweat rolling down the side of the man’s face. Eyes darting around the room, not even looking at Clint, the assistant. Gunar had yet to offer him a seat, leaving him standing awkwardly inside the door.

“This is a just a quick visit,” Phil said, taking a few steps into the room, forcing Gunar back. “Your president says that you are ready to go into production and we’re excited to see exactly what the future of Johtun is going to be.”

“Of course, of course.” Gunar flapped his hands uselessly, shooting a glance at the doorway. “I’ve asked Dr. Utgard, our Head of Development, to join us. She’ll be glad to show you the labs, explain what we’re doing.”

“Yes, I imagine she will be,” Phil said with a quirk of his lips. He was far better at this than Clint had anticipated, sliding easily into the role of privileged executive who expected everyone to jump at his name. First the damn suit and now this. If that grey flannel fit any better, Clint would know the exact  lines of Phil’s back and shoulders. Clint was beginning to think he’d severely underestimated Coulson’s abilities at distraction.  “While Dr. Utgard shows me around, my assistant here will need access to your paperwork. Just a formality, mind you, but International companies have to be very careful when dealing with the U.S. government as I’m sure you know.”

“Yes, certainly.” Gunar didn’t look certain; he looked like a man about to be sick. “He’ll need to go through a security check …”

“He is my assistant,” Phil said, voice going cold. “And that is enough.”

Yes, Phil was good at this; Clint didn’t have to fake the little shiver that ran down his spine at Phil’s tone. Gunar glanced his way and Clint widened his eyes, taking a small step away from Phil.

“Ah, Gunar, I’m sorry I’m late.” The woman who walked into the room fit Tony’s description perfectly. A large woman, Igrid Utgard was muscular and very imposing. Her blonde hair was streaked with grey, pulled back neatly with a clasp. Non-descript blue suit with slacks and sensible shoes made her seem like less of a threat, but the tilt of her head and the firm handshake she offered first Phil and then Clint belied that impression.  “Mr. Robinson. Mr. Carson. I apologize. I was caught by one of the scientists in the hallway. They love to talk problems when I have somewhere to be.”

As the CEO relaxed, Clint took note at how the man in charge deferred to the woman who’d just entered the room. Something was off balance in this company. “Igrid, Mr. Robinson wants his assistant to check the paperwork on the pending approval. I assured him we could do that.”

Her eye twitched at the corner. “I’m sure that can be arranged. If you’ll follow me, gentlemen, we’ll get you situated.” 

Clint didn’t miss the breath the Gunar released as the left the room. As he followed the woman down the hallway, he studied the layout of the floor, counting the doors and scoping out the exit points. As they passed, heads went down, people turning their eyes to their computers and paperwork. Only two looked at them with any curiosity; everyone else didn’t want to know anything about the visitors.  

They took the elevator up two floors, Utgard’s key card giving them access. The doors opened up onto a posh lobby, another secretary, blonde, young and curvy in her pink jacket and matching paisley scarf.  

“Elsie, will you take Mr. Carson here to talk to Magnus? Tell him to give Mr. Carson everything he needs,” Utgard said.

“Of course, Doctor.” Elsie stood, straightening her pencil slim skirt. Clint shot a look at Phil who nodded his agreement.“If you will follow me?” 

She had a slight accent; her native language was Icelandic, but she’d gone to school in England, Oxford Clint guessed, and had been in New York long enough to pick up a slight narrowing of her vowels. Designer suit -- Prada, last year’s collection, five inch heeled black pumps -- she walked like a model down the hallway.  

“I’d have thought the CEO would have his office up here,” Clint said, glancing into the open doors of finely appointed offices. Seems whoever had done the decorating like blonde birch and the color blue. 

“Mr. Gunar prefers to be closer to the action.” She smiled at him, her blue eyes traveling down his body and back. “He’s very hands-on.”

“Must be nice to have a boss who cares,” Clint said, flicking his eyes back to make sure they were alone. 

“He is a nice man,” Elsie said. “Worries about his employees. Thinks I need to find a good man and settle down.” She laughed. “This is New York. Too much to do and too many handsome men to pick one.”

“So if I wanted to know where to go for a party, you’re the one to ask?” He knew a come-on when he heard one. Either she was flirting with him or was trying to get friendly to find out why he was here. 

“What they say about New York never sleeping is true.” She came to a halt beside the last door on the left. “I know a great club, not too trendy, great bar, lots of local bands.” 

With a tap of her knuckles, she announced their presence before she opened the door. “Mr. Martinsson? This is Mr. Carson from World Tree; Dr. Utgard said you could help him.” 

Light filtered in through the opened blinds, catching on the blonde highlights of the man’s curly brown hair. Tall and slim, Magnus Martinsson had left his jacket hanging on the back of his chair and rolled his black shirt sleeves up to his elbows, his grey double breasted vest still buttoned. His collar was open, silver tie loosened. He turned his blue eyes Clint’s way and quirked an eyebrow at him. 

“Of course,” Martinsson said. “I’m sure I can meet his needs.”

“Stop by my desk before you leave; I’ll give you my number,” Elsie said as she passed on her way out. She left with one last look at Clint before she shut the door. 

“Clint Barton. I’d heard you were out.” Martinsson tucked his hands in his belt as he smiled. “Been awhile, hasn’t it?”

“Four years, give or take,” Clint replied. “You’ve changed your hair.”

“I’m out of my black leather phase. But then you always liked it more natural.” He strolled over to his desk and leaned his hip against the edge, crossing his arms over his chest. “You, however, have lost your sense of style or is this part of the game? I’d guess there’s a partner, working the uptight, anal retentive supervisor that you’re going to turn on, right?”

“You went the inside route. How did you get rid of the real Magnus Martinsson?” Clint settled down into one of the black chairs, kicking his feet out and crossing his ankles. “If he’s not alive, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.”

“On an island in the tropics. He won the lottery. Imagine that.”  He shrugged. “Almost as likely as the two of us going after the same score. The Matisse in the CFO’s office is a beauty and very very pricey on the open market.” 

“I do love a good Matisse.” Clint certainly did. “Never could resist.”

Loki Laufeyson, art thief, con man, grifter extraordinary, made no bones about sizing up Clint from head to toe. “That painting in Zagreb, ‘Obalisque in Red Pants.’ You were quite … excited when we liberated it. I remember a bottle of 2005 Bodegas Roda Cirsion and a plate of oysters being involved.” 

“It was an exquisite example of his style,” Clint countered. He had to admit, he’d missed the banter; Loki was quick of wit and easy on the eyes.  Too bad Clint couldn’t trust him further than he could throw him. 

The phone on the desk rang and Loki picked it up. “Martinsson,” he answered. “Yes. Of course. Right away. I’ll get Elsie to bring some coffee.”  He hung up the receiver. “Well, well. It seems that they want me to bring you and the files to the conference room where they can keep an eye on you. Cold fusion, hmmm?” 

It was Clint’s turn to shrug. Never give a straight answer especially to someone who could be a rival. “Maybe they want to observe you,” he suggested. Unfolding himself from the chair, Clint motioned to the door. “After you.”

“I have missed you, Barton,” he said, walking close enough to drag a hand. “This is going to be fun.”

* * *

 

“Your lab space is very up-to-date,” Phil remarked as Utgard led him past a long row of windows. On the other side, scientists were hard at work, heads down over their computers or buried under one of the chemical hoods. White coats with backs turned, moving around quickly. None of them looking their way. “Are the testing facilities on site as well?”

“This is primarily a simulation lab. They’re involved in various aspects of the project, plus we have more research for other projects.” Utgard was doing a good job saying virtually nothing. Phil was beginning to wonder what he was going to have to do to rattle her. “Ah, there he is. I wanted to make sure and introduce you.”

She knocked on the window and caught the attention of a big man, motioning him over; he had long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail with a leather thong. As he turned, Phil noticed he wore jeans underneath the lab coat and a grey henley pulled tight across his muscles. He looked more like a movie star than a scientist, but then anyone could keep themselves in shape. Phil still worked out so he could stay up with the younger agents. 

“Dr. Blake,” Utgard said as the man came out of the room. “I wanted to make sure you had a chance to speak to Mr. Robinson. Since you’re both from main headquarters.”

The trap she’d set was a clever one; never mentioning that there was another person already here, she hoped to catch Phil out. Fortunately, Phil wasn’t a novice at going undercover.  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, holding his hand out to the other man. “Paul Robinson. I work at Asgardian Gotenburg.” There were dozen of company headquarters around the globe. International companies; complex and very spread out.

“Dr. Donald Blake, out of Midgard Melbourne science division.” A firm handshake and a bright smile greeted Phil. “Nice to meet you.”

“Perhaps later I can come back and talk about your work?” Phil asked; let Utgard think he was making an end run around her. 

“Of course. I’d love to show you our latest experiments,” Dr. Blake replied, seemingly unaware of Utgard’s scowl.

* * *

 

Clint lounged in his wrought iron chair, spinning his empty coffee cup as he waited for Phil, his hat on the table. After a long afternoon of looking at governmental paperwork, he was more convinced than ever that someone was pulling a con. Everything was perfect, literally, every i dotted and t crossed … and that was how he knew. People made mistakes; the rule of a good forgery was to add a few to make it look real. 

“So how does your new accessory work?” Loki stopped at the table and looked pointedly at Clint’s ankle. “An electronic leash of some sort?”

Clint motioned to the busy street. “No walls, no bars, good coffee, free to come and go as I please. Pretty good deal.”

“What’s the radius? Two miles? Three?” Loki made no move to sit down and, dammit, Clint hated having to look up like that. He was already shorter than the other man. Pushing back his chair, he gathered his garbage and sauntered over to the bin beside the wall. 

“Better than the alternative.” Clint turned; Loki moved, effectively boxing him against the wall while still appearing to be casually leaning on one arm. “Alright, what’s your game?” 

“Depends. Are you a Fed now? What’s the American phrase? Narcing out all your old friends?” A steely glint flashed in Loki’s blue eyes as warning. 

“Now why would I do that when you know so many dirty little secrets about me?” Clint asked, playing it off like he didn’t care. Loki, when crossed, was a formidable opponent; it had taken Clint a long time to see beneath that well-practiced veneer of civility. “Besides, you’d be amazed how many doors open up when someone flashes a badge; free reign of museums, customs, private businesses …”

The menace disappeared as quickly as it came from Loki’s face. “Ah, so that’s the plan. While your stick in the ass friends are checking out the highly suspicious cold fusion, the Matisse is walking out the door in your pocket. I should have known you’d have a backup; you always have an angle.” 

“Thank you,” Clint said, tugging his jacket into place. “I try.” 

That got a chuckle from the other man, but still he didn’t let Clint go. “Ah, Barton. I can honestly say I’ve missed your sense of humor. Your exquisite taste in wine. Your excellent taste in clothing.” 

With each phrase, Loki leaned in closer until his lips were hovering not an inch beyond Clint’s. 

“And your very gorgeous mouth,” Loki breathed right before he kissed Clint.

And Clint remembered just why he’d fallen into Loki’s bed in the first place. Charisma, charm and a genius con man, not to mention a hell of a good kisser. He slanted his lips with just the right pressure, brushing his fingers along the curve of Clint’s jaw and cupping the back of his head.  A quick breath then suck on Clint’s bottom lip, a gentle tug as Loki pulled away; he leaned forward until his lips brushed the curve of Clint’s ear. 

“Your friend in the nice suit is watching,” Loki murmured. “Have we made him sufficiently jealous? That was the plan wasn’t it? ‘Cause from the look on his face, he wants to drag me in for questioning .. or maybe you for something else.” 

Clint pushed Loki back, a playful shove that put space between them. Over Loki’s left shoulder, he saw Phil standing near the corner, hands in his pockets, ruining the cut of his suit.  Eyes narrowed, Phil looked Loki up and down in that way he had, the one that saw every angle and detail in a glance.  “He’s good,” Clint warned Loki. “You don’t want to get on his radar.”

“Oh, I think he’s targeted on someone else,” Loki said with a chuckle. Raising his voice, he slipped Clint’s phone from his pocket and began to enter his number. “Let me take you to the best burger in the city while you’re here.”

“Sounds good,” Clint replied, resisting the urge to snatch the phone, instead making a point to look at the screen. The screen name was just ‘Me.’ 

Loki raised an eyebrow, his lip quirking up on one side. “Call me.” 

Watching Loki walk away, Clint did a mental recalculation; plans shifted to accommodate this new variable, work it into his plans. Playing two fronts, both with dangerous possibilities; Clint tamped down the excitement he felt at being back in the game. Adjusting on the fly, pushing the envelope. This was what he loved about the con.

“He moves fast,” Coulson said, stepping up beside Clint. “What’s Martinsson’s angle?” 

A slight widening of his pupils, a quicker breath -- Clint was learning Coulson’s tells. “He asked me on a date,” Clint answered. Stick to the truth as close as possible and it was easier to be convincing. “I told him you were making me work late, but took his number.” 

“We do have a lot of data to go through,” Phil said. His eyes flitted over to a cup of mocha latte a waiter delivered to a nearby table. “But there’s time for a cup to go.” 

He was cute, the way he rolled over and played dead for decent coffee. Clint had to remember to get Phil to The Chipped Cup uptown one of these days. “Got to be better than that sludge you have in the office.” 

“Not going to argue you with on that.” Phil sniffed at the aroma of fresh ground beans. “I think I need a double.” 

For a second, Clint wondered if it was the long hours ahead of them or seeing Loki kissing him that made Phil yearn for a hit of java. Aside from Natasha, Phil was the one person who knew Clint’s modus operandi -- Phil had to be onto Clint’s game. And nobody who knew Clint’s background could ever truly trust him. Hell, Clint didn’t really trust himself. 

“I’ll take a blonde roast espresso,” Clint told him as Phil started inside for takeout. “And a pineapple scone.” 

Might as well get some sugar and caffeine if he was going to stare at numbers for awhile.

* * *

 

The subway stairs were crowded, all elbows and briefcases and loud voices. Jane tucked her hands in her coat pockets and made herself smaller, stepping to the right to avoid those rushing off to a night on the town or a late dinner. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the train just pulling into the station, making her way through the exiting throng to the right side of the platform. Aiming for the front cars, the ones she had to make a hard turn by the stairs and run to get to, she shoved her way closer, hoping to get on before the doors shut.   She’d have to stand up, but that was okay; those cars weren’t packed like sardines at least. 

Just as she passed the pot lights in the floor, she felt the tug backwards; almost stumbling, she banged into a girl with perfect makeup and a little black dress. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I don’t know …” 

Strong arms wrapped around her and she falling, the concrete of the platform scraping her palms as she tried to stop the fall. A body landed on top of her, heavy and warm; she squirmed, trying to get out from under it. Then she heard the screams and saw running feet, felt the impact as someone accidentally kicked the man above her, and she registered the series of pops as gunfire. 

“Stay down,” Donald Blake whispered in her ear. “Someone’s shooting at you.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki as Alex Hunter? Had to be! I picture him looking like Hiddleston did in the Wallander series (where I stole the name from). He's a little more redeemable here, but still his sassy bad boy self.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot ... um ... plots thicken. People are not who they seem and everyone is hiding something. Donald Blake is interrogated, Loki visits Clint, and it's no surprise Natasha isn't happy. Oh, and Clint's life just got a lot more complicated

“I’ve got the doctor in the conference room,” Maria told Phil, “and the other guy in interrogation.”

 

Phil nodded in agreement. “I’ll take Donald Blake or whatever his name is. Any news on Darcy?”

 

“She’s on her way.” Steve said from his desk. “I’m working on a safe house for Dr. Foster.”

 

From the moment the call had come in, the task force had jumped into action; Steve worked with his NYPD connection, Sam Wilson, to ease the FBI takeover of the attempted murder while Maria continued working through the reams of data they’d collected at Johtun. They had few leads on a suspect; with the crowd on the platform and the panic after the shots, it would take hours to go through the CCTV footage. Even then, Phil had little hope of anything of value; only three of the six cameras were working and the positioning was terrible. He had Skye from cybersecurity working on it. With the local cops interviewing the witnesses, Phil knew he had a long night in store.

 

“Where is Barton?” Maria asked, glancing around. “I thought he was supposed to be helping.”

 

“He’s not upstairs?” Phil didn’t have time for this; if Clint had skipped out, he was going to be sincerely pissed off. After the display at the coffee shop, Phil was already out-of-sorts. Not that Clint couldn’t have a relationship; no, what bothered Phil was how easily Clint used seduction to gain information. It wasn’t the very intimate kiss he witnessed. Not at all. “Damn it, I don’t have time to babysit …”

 

“So why is an Interpol agent pretending to be a World Tree scientist?”  Clint strolled in from the break room, a cup of tea in his hand.  

 

“Interpol?” Steve stood up. “How do you … yeah, never mind.”

 

“Know your enemies, right Phil?.” Clint grinned as he leaned against a desk. “Let’s just say Thor and I have crossed paths before. Didn’t come near to catching me though.”

 

“Thor? Seriously? That’s his name?” Maria chuckled. “Well, he does have amazing arms, so I guess being named after a Norse god fits.”

 

“Makes sense when you find out he’s from the Odinson family that owns World Tree.” Clint dropped that little fact. “I hear his dad’s pressing him to come back to the business.”

 

Phil didn’t rise to the bait despite Clint’s smug look.  Brain jumping ahead, Phil asked, “Will he recognize you?”

 

With a tip of his head, Clint gave a nod of agreement. As always, Clint was right there with Phil’s thinking. “What’s the signal phrase?”

 

“Norse gods. I’ll work it in somehow.” Phil started towards the interrogation room.

 

Donald Blake … or Thor … sat at the table, drumming his fingers on the wooden surface. A blue button up oxford strained across his biceps as he leaned on his forearm; blonde ponytail tied back with a leather thong. Intimidating in size, Donald was glaring at the empty doorway, impatience clear. He started talking as soon as he saw Phil in the hallway.

 

“Is Jane alright?” He didn’t ask so much as demand. “She is still in peril.”

 

“Dr. Foster is safe,” Phil assured him. “But I have some questions for you; let’s start with the basics. How long have you been in the US?”

 

“I’m not the one you should be focusing on; Utgard’s got her fingers in everything. Check her movements last night; I’ll be she hired someone to do this.” He sat back in his chair as if waiting for Phil to do as he said.

 

“We have people looking into all angles, Dr. Blake.” Phil straightened some paperwork and put on his best bored face. “Now, how long have you been in the US?”

 

With a heavy sigh, Thor thumped his forearms down on the table. “I arrived in April and my work permit is valid through next spring.  I can provide them if I’m allowed to go back to my apartment.”

 

“And what brought you to New York?” Phil kept his voice perfectly calm.

 

“World Tree needed my expertise at Johtun.”Only offering the shortest reply that would satisfy the question, Thor clearly was not going to volunteer anything else.

 

“Says here you’re a medical doctor, an oncologist to be exact. What did Johtun need with a cancer specialist?” Phil took note of Thor’s facial ticks, the way his nostrils flared and his finger tapped on the table. The man was frustrated; tension coiled the longer he sat in the wooden hair.

 

“I do environmental impact studies and often evaluate tests as a second opinion. The company takes our responsibility to the community and environment seriously.” He glanced at the lights beyond the glass and let out a long exhale. “There are worries about the new project and its imminent release. I was sent to ensure there wouldn’t be any problems.”

 

“I see.” Phil flipped more papers. “And that would be the cold fusion project?”

 

Thor’s eyes widened for a second. “Project Ymir. That’s what the Feds are interested in.”

 

“Ymir. That’s one of the frost giants isn’t it? From Norse mythology?” Time to end this charade and find out what this guy was up to.

 

“The father of all giants; this new technology is supposed to be the beginning of of a new age in clean energy,” Thor said.

 

“Hey, Coulson.” Barton came into the room, dropping a file on the table. “Got some new information.”

 

Phil never took his eyes off of the blonde man across the table so he didn’t miss a single emotion that flitted across the handsome face. Recognition, confusion then understanding.

 

“You’re the one who got him out of prison.” Thor dropped the act. “I’d heard a rumor he was working off his sentence, but I didn’t believe it. Clint Barton? Turning over a new leaf?”

 

“Stranger things have happened,” Barton replied. “How’s Interpol these days? You guys miss me?”

 

“Busy as ever; one thief goes to prison, there’s still another waiting in the wings,” Thor shrugged; his whole persona changed from quiet doctor to confident detective. “I will say you were … are ... entertaining.”

 

“Style, that’s the world you’re looking for.” Barton perched on the end of the table. “So, did Daddy send you to make sure everything was copacetic or is Interpol on the case?”

 

“According to my contact across the pond, Odinson is on an extended vacation to deal with family issues,” Steve added from the doorway.

 

“Thank you,” Phil said; Rogers nodded and left. “Anything you’d like to tell us, Agent Odinson?”

 

“I’m not on official business from either the company or the department,” Thor told them. “This is a personal trip.”

 

“Dr. Foster.” Phil put the pieces together. “You’re protecting her.”

 

“She an amazing woman; did you know she got her doctorate at twenty-four?” Thor smiled, completely smitten. “I saw her give a paper in Switzerland; such a brilliant brain in a small package.  When I read about the two deaths and that Jane was working for Johtun, I came on my own to check it out. And tonight proves I was right to do so”

 

“You think Utgard is behind the killings?” Phil asked. It made sense; his read was that Gunar wasn’t their man.

 

“She’s in it up to her eyeballs, that’s for sure, but she’s the type who takes orders; I doubt she's the mastermind. My assumption is she uses hired help for the killings, but so far all I have is proof that the paperwork for approval is full of omissions,” Thor explained. “Look, I have access to the computer network. They’re not going to come after Jane again; I need to be there to stop them.”

 

Having an inside man who could handle himself could be invaluable. “Let’s start by letting you see Dr. Foster; she’s anxious to know if you’re alright. Then we’ll compare notes.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was after midnight before Clint opened the door to his attic rooms; with a sigh, he let himself in, intending to have a glass of wine before getting some sleep. That thought went out the wall of glass windows when he saw Loki sitting on his small couch, socked feet on the round ottoman. His silk shirt buttoned only halfway up and was untucked from his grey slacks; wire-rimmed glass perched on his aquiline nose, a book open in his lap. He’d helped himself, opening a bottle of Shafer Vineyards Cabernet Sauvignon Hillside Select and pouring a glass.

 

“Make yourself at home,” Clint said. He didn’t have to worry about Loki seeing something he shouldn’t; Clint was obsessive about privacy and always cleared away before he left the room. “Pour me some of that, would you?”

 

“Quite a decent vintage,” Loki said as he stood, unfolding his long lean body and padding across the wooden floorboards to the small kitchenette. “American wineries have come a long way.”

 

“That they have.” Heading into the hallway, Clint stopped in his closet and removed his jacket. The ill-fitting suit had been rubbing him raw all day; nothing worse for his self-image that a poor quality worsted. Changing into a pair of silk pajama pants and a soft white t-shirt, he ran a hand through his hair and went back out into the main room. Loki waited, leaning against the wall, watching as Clint opened the refrigerator, took out some grapes, a wedge of taleggio cheese, and salami. As he sliced a few pieces off, Clint sipped the wine Loki had set out for him.

 

“So, how is my brother?” Stealing a grape with his long fingers, Loki popped it in his mouth. “Alive, I hope. Although with his penchant for finding trouble, it’s a surprise he’s lasted this long.”

 

“He’s fine,” Clint answered. Talking to Loki was like negotiating a minefield, fraught with pitfalls and dangers. “I take it he doesn’t know you’re here.”

 

“Ah, no. I’ve been playing hide-and-seek with him for weeks. Thankfully he’s too enamoured with the mousy brunette to be at his top form. I’m not sure what he sees in her, but he is certainly smitten.” Loki followed as Clint put the plate of food on the coffee table and sat down on the couch. “I’m not surprised to hear about the gunman; our little miss genius has been asking far too many questions and it hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

 

The wine was rich and tasted ever so slightly of cedar; it slid down Clint’s throat and warmed his stomach. “A perfect distraction, wouldn’t you say? Attempted murder will bring the spotlight to the project, leaving plenty of room for you to sneak around in the shadows.”

 

“I wouldn’t wish any harm on the poor girl,” Loki protested, laying an arm along the back of the couch and settling into the other end. “Being involved with Thor is enough of a curse. But it certainly makes my job easier. Speaking of which, we could always do this together. Like old times, remember? It was always a pleasure working with you.”

 

Oh, yes, Loki knew just how to get to Clint’s libido; there was a reason he put up with Loki’s eccentricities. He was the second best in the business and he was damn good in bed. “You want me to help you steal the painting.” A statement, not a question.  “How do I know you won’t leave me hanging out to dry again?”

 

“MI5 was on my heels; I had no choice.” Loki had never changed his story, but Clint knew the tale was only half-true. “But if you’re worried, this time I'll let you hold the goods.”

 

He thought about it. Oh, yes, Clint thought about it. He’d done some homework, looking up the painting and staring at the low pixel version of a masterpiece. One of his weaknesses was quality art. Another was handsome, intelligent men.

 

“If I get caught, I’ll go back to jail.” He propped a foot up on the table and lifted the hem of his pants to show his anklet. “As tethering as this thing is, I prefer it to concrete walls and rubbery salisbury steak.”

 

“Why do you keep wearing that thing?” Loki leaned forward, ran a finger around the anklet, lightly brushing on Clint’s skin. “I know you can be out of it in seconds. We could take the Matisse, make a new start. Paris is lovely this time of year. Or that little island .. what was its name? With the villas out in the water?”

 

“Twenty-one months and I’ll have served my time. I won’t have to hide, no running. Free. That’s worth dealing with a little discomfort.” Clint tamped down on a shiver at the touch, covering his reaction with another sip of wine.”Besides, the knowledge gained about the inner workings of the white collar division is invaluable.”

 

“Ah.” Loki got that look in his eyes as if he saw straight into Clint. “That’s your plan. Yes, I understand the need for revenge. My brother and I have our problems, but I wouldn’t do what Barney did to you.”

 

Clint dropped his foot, picked up his plate, and stood. “You would sell Thor to the highest bidder for a Van Gogh.”

 

With a chuckle, Loki followed Clint to the sink. “True. I’d take a Rodin, too. Hell, I’d do it for a lesser known Pollock. But you’re a different story; that would take a copy of Aristotle’s Comedy.” He topped off Clint’s glass and his own, sitting the bottle on the counter. “In all seriousness, if you need help hunting him down …”

 

“I’m not searching for my brother.” Every week, the prison therapist had asked about Barney and each time Clint gave the same answer. He’d had lots of practice fooling the professionals. “I don’t need his toxicity in my life.”

 

One eyebrow arched upwards, and Loki’s lips quirked at the edges. “Oh, how … mature. Then it’s your handler, that agent in the sexy glasses. The one who brought you down. Can’t say I blame you; someone that smart is damn appealing.”

 

A response was what Loki was looking for, so Clint merely shrugged. “He’s good, I’ll give him that, but, in the end, he’s a suit.”

 

“Right.” Loki put his glass down. “How does it go? Good food, good wine, and good sex. There’s never a reason to settle for less.” He leaned in, closing the distance between them. “How long has it been? All that time in jail with your high standards; no prison house romances for you. Six weeks out and your every move watched?” He tilted his head, his eyes flicking to Clint’s lips. “We always did make magic together.”

 

Clint knew kissing Loki ranked right at the top of bad decisions but it had been a long time since anyone had touched him in a romantic way. Yes, he’d avoided the revolving door of sexual partners in prison, using his charm and wit to stay out of the worst offenders’ way. And the last few weeks, he’d been spending all his free time chasing down leads on his brother’s whereabouts. So Loki’s lips slanting across Clint’s felt amazing and stirred longing in Clint’s chest. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d let his dick lead him into danger, and he knew from experience that he could separate business and pleasure when it came to Laufeyson.

 

Spinning Loki around, Clint pressed him up against the counter and kissed him harder. With a chuckle, Loki buried his fingers in Clint’s hair, holding his head still so he could plunder his mouth in return. They stumbled across the open space, tearing off their clothes, tossing the pieces haphazardly around the room; Clint maneuvered them so Loki hit the bed first, sprawling out in just his boxers. Climbing on, Clint loomed over him, nipping at the expanse of pale skin; he moaned as their hips came in contact and stopped thinking, letting his body take control. When his release came, he sighed and flopped down on his back.

 

Staring up through the angled panes of glass above the bed, Clint watched the lights flicker in the tall buildings, only a small glimpse of the star speckled night sky, as Loki shifted in his sleep. Plans shifted in his head, discarded, rewritten, tweaked, all predicated on the fact that the man next to him, naked body wound around Clint’s own, would betray him in a heartbeat. As Clint finally dozed off, he wondered what it would be like to share his bed with someone he trusted. In his line of work, he’d probably never know.

 

* * *

 

 

“Alright, I’ve got some nylon rope, a taser, a box of Fruit Loops, and a pair of sushi socks.” Natasha came through the door, carrying two plastic bags. “All I need is some gruyere cheese and a paintbrush.”

 

She came to a stop as her eyes fell on Loki seated at the table, a cup of tea in his hand. “Nice to see some things never change,” he drawled. “I heard you were in Belize; congratulations on the Mayan vase that just sold at Sotheby's.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Natasha turned a cold shoulder to him, choosing to glare at Clint instead. “Look, I get it, a man has needs, whatever, but Laufeyson? All you had to do was ask and I’d have you a perfect date in just a few hours. Anyone would be better than this crazy bag of cats.”

 

“You wound me.” Loki put his hand over his heart. “I am not crazy. My stepmother had me tested.”

 

“She should ask for her money back.” Going stock still, she stared at Loki, almost unblinking, her green eyes giving no quarter.

 

After a few ticks of the clock on the wall, Loki coughed, pushed back his seat and stood up. “Well, work calls.” He drained the last of his tea and put the cup in the sink. Leaning into Clint’s space, he kissed him lightly. “I’ll text you; burgers are on me tonight.”

 

Natasha calmly poured herself a cup of coffee from Clint’s carafe and snagged a blueberry muffin from the breadbox. Sitting down in Loki’s vacated seat, she propped her boots on the table and took a bite, chewing slowly. “Please tell me you only sleeping with him; sex is one thing, but a job? You can’t trust him.”

 

“He wants me to help him steal the Matisse in the CEO’s office.” Clint joined her, peeling the paper off his own pastry. “He’s already on the inside and has the security schematics. All he needs is a diversion.”

 

“On the inside?  Isn’t his brother here too?” Natasha shook her head. “Bet that reunion went well.”

 

“Thor doesn’t know; Loki’s been ducking him for weeks. Helps that they’re in different wings of the building,” Clint told her.

 

“Let me guess; the FBI’s investigation is the perfect cover. He gets someone else to tip off the suits, and when they come down on Johtun, he takes the painting in all the confusion.” Nat huffed. “And then he disappears, never to be heard from again.”

 

“Which is why we’re going to steal it before he does.”

 

She grinned at him. “Now there’s the Clint I know and love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Donald Blake is the name of the guy who turns into Thor in the early comic books; I was having some fun with that. 
> 
> All the play with cold fusion and warm lights are me being my usual "but The Avengers!" self. 
> 
> Loki in this AU is more of the misunderstood black sheep of the family who acts out in many ways against his family's wealth and status. His morality is more chaotic neutral than evil. 
> 
> A number of people asked about Satchmo, the dog. I have plans to introduce him later on. I saw a gifset today of White Collar mashed up with Magic Mike XXL and had the brainstorm for the next plot. How can I pass up Clint going undercover as a stripper and Phil having to sit and watch him? Three AUs in one!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's sleeping with the enemy ... or maybe not? Depends on what Loki's plan is. Some visitors come to town and Tony sticks his nose into the case.

“If I have to look at one more scientific formula, my eyes are going to cross.” Phil pushed the stack of papers away. “It’s all valid. Every last one of these reports say their device works.”

 

Barton sat back in his chair, tossing another file on the growing pile. Utgard had buried them in information, a good strategy to get them out from under her feet. “Maybe it is. I mean, it’s not outside the realm of possibility.”

 

“Then why the murders?” Phil turned it over in his mind. “If cold fusion is real, they’re sitting on a gold mine.”

 

“Lay it to rest for the night. Neither of us had lunch and it’s past seven. I know this place; outside of my radius so I haven’t been there since I’ve been out.” Barton stood. “Food, some sleep, it will make more sense.”

 

He should go over everything one more time, try to find something to hang this investigation on. So far all they had was smuggled data and murders coincidentally linked to the company. Their search for the gunman who targeted Jane Foster was going nowhere; she was tucked up in a safe house, and Thor had gone back to the lab, working with them to track the hired killer.

 

But he stood up anyway, catching his jacket and swinging it over his arm. “I could eat and, as much as it pains me to admit, you seem to know the best places.”

 

Flashing one of his grins, Barton spun his hat in his hand and slipped it on his head. “Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

 

They caught a cab and rode into midtown, onto a quiet street, the kind of neighborhood with a grocery on the corner, bike racks, and a mix of small stores and nicely maintained walk-ups. Barton stopped the cab in front of one of the larger buildings and led Phil down a short flight of concrete steps to an unmarked green door. It opened after a quick knock and the entered a large open space with round tables covered in green checked plastic tablecloths. A black board was mounted above a working fireplace with today’s date; scrawled in chalk, the menu ranged from home cooking to fancy french dishes.

 

“Mitchell!” A tall dark-skinned man crossed the room, arms outstretched. Barton went easily into the hug, returning it with gusto. “Damn, man. I didn’t know you were in town.”

 

“Haven’t been here long,” Barton replied. “Had to bring Phil by; the man believes MacDonald’s is eating out. And you can call me Clint.”

 

“Oh, God, don’t let Pap hear you say that. You know how he is.” The man turned to Phil and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Phil.”

 

Phil shut his mouth, not wanting to gawk; Donald Gaveston was one of the most famous chefs in New York City. “You too. I enjoy your show.”

 

“You watch Food Network?” Clint asked, his eyebrows rising.

 

“Baching It is a great concept. I can make a damn good French Dip Sandwich thanks to Don,” Phil protested.

 

“I already like him,” Don said with a laugh. “Take the table by the fire and I’ll tell Pap you’re here. Gumbo coming right out.”

 

Clint dropped his hat on a hook and swung his jacket over the back of a chair. Before they could settle in, Don came back, two bowls of steaming soup thick with rice, sausage and shrimp. Following closely was a hunched man with a spattered white apron, at least 80-years-old, what was left of his hair little more than grey fluff.

 

“And here you are,” the older man said, waving his gnarled finger at Clint. “You better have what you owe me. Showing your face in my restaurant; that’s a set of balls you’ve got.”

 

“I don’t want any trouble,” Clint replied. He dug a pen out of his pocket and a small pad of paper; jotting down some numbers and words, he smiled at Pap. “You know I always bring you something new. A jerk spice rub that’s so hot it should be illegal but addictive as hell.”

 

Pap took the paper, glared at it, then handed it to his grandson. “Can’t read shit anymore; got trifocals and they just make things worse.” He grinned, wrinkles rearranging as he patted Clint on the shoulder. “Heard you’d gotten out. This the guy who’s gonna keep you in line?” His rummy eyes glared at Phil and he felt like a five-year-old with his hand caught in the cookie jar. “He’s a lawman, I can tell. Too uptight. Boy,” he spoke to Phil, “You’re going to have to be on your toes to keep up with this one. Be nice for everyone to see the good I can see.”

 

“I’ll do my best,” Phil promised and meant it. “I can see it too.”

 

“Okay, enough embarrassing me.” Clint picked up a spoon and waved it at Phil. “I brought you here to eat. Dig in.”

 

“Still sassy as ever,” Pap groused. “And too damn skinny. I’m sending out a full five courses; I expect you to clean your plate.”

 

The first bite was spicy and hearty and delicious; Phil’s stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t put anything in it since breakfast. The level of soup in the cup quickly dropped. As much as he wanted to ask the questions bubbling in his head, he knew that waiting would net him more in the long run.

 

A pretty young woman with a very short natural afro brought out the second course, a small molded salad in the center of an all white plate. It popped with green and red and slivers of bacon.

 

“Denise!” Clint smiled up at her warmly. “Look at you. Last time I saw you, you were, what, fourteen? Now you’re …”

 

“Nineteen. I’m studying fashion design at NYU,” she told him.

 

“Wow, that’s impressive. Glad the school recognized your talent,” Clint replied.

She smiled, obviously pleased, then turned and went back into the kitchen. “Try it,” Clint told Phil, dipping his fork for a bite. “It’s Pap’s famous Oliver Salad; he takes the Russian version and adds his own twist.”

 

Potatoes, peppers, peas, celery for bite, and a creamy sauce with an unexpected kick. Phil ate two more forkfuls before he sipped the red wine that had appeared to go with the food. “It’s good.”

 

“Pap’s better than some of the graduates of the Cordon Bleu. Learned to cook in the army and opened his own place when he got back. Raised three kids, put them through college,  battled cancer, and never lost his sense of compassion.” Clint talked as he ate, the story falling easily like so many of the ones he told. And yet, Phil sensed this one was different; there was a tenderness in Clint’s eyes that spoke of his fondness for the man. “Took pity on a street rat and fed me in his own kitchen. Gave me a job and taught me to love cooking.”

 

“Be careful there, Barton. I might begin to believe you have a heart.” Phil meant it as a joke, but the quick wince was gone in a half-sec. He might have missed it if he hadn’t been looking right at Clint. “It’s nice to know someone was looking out for you. I bet you were an irresistible little scamp.”

 

Clint’s eyes dropped to the table, watching the small plate disappear and a larger one of delicious smelling veal scallopini replacing it. “I knew how to use my size to my advantage.”

 

“This is amazing.” Phil swallowed his first bite and savored the full bodied wine reduction, sliver of crimini mushroom, and slice of beef. “Best I’ve tasted in the city. But I’ve never even heard of this place.”

 

“Yeah, Pap’s only open three nights a week and cooks only for friends. I heard he kicked Bobby Flay out after his infidelities came out.” Clint filled both of their glasses from the wine bottle left on the table. “Pap’s been married for 52 years to the same woman; he takes commitment seriously.”

 

“Good man.” Phil smiled; between the good food and the excellent wine, he was beginning to mellow. “Glad to know someone still thinks marriage is important.”

 

“You a picket fence kind of guy, Coulson?” Now this was Barton at his best, flirty and full of confidence; it was easier to remember that he couldn’t be trusted. “You’ve got the brownstone in Tribeca now; going to trade it in for the right guy and some rug rats?”

 

“Probably not in my future; finding someone to put up with my long hours is impossible.” He wasn’t lonely, not really; he spent very little at home and most of that was to sleep. “But, yeah, I believe in the institution.”

 

“See, that’s why you’re good at your job; you see people as inherently good. Me, on the other hand ..” Clint paused, his fork halfway to his mouth.

 

“What?” Phil prompted, already familiar with Clint’s ‘I’ve-got-an-idea” face.

 

“Inherent goodness. We’ve been assuming this is a pig-in-a-poke scam. But it’s not; it’s a wolf-in-sheep’s-skin.” Clint put his fork down. “Cold fusion, clean energy, a boon to all mankind. Too good to be true.”

 

“You think it’s not cold fusion?” Phil turned it over in his mind. “That it’s …”

 

“A weapon. Damn it, of course. That’s what they’re lying about. I bet somewhere there was a study that showed the possibility and they kept it quiet. Much easier to get approval for energy production then, oh, my, look what we discovered?” Clint’s eyes practically glowed as he spoke. “No, they’ll have someone else figure it out. Or they won’t. If I was Utgard, I’d have a buyer already lined up; hell, I’d have brought in a fat cat military industrialist to pay for everything. I get to be the hero who saved Johtun, made a fat profit, and padded my own pockets along the way.”

 

It never ceased to amaze him, the way Barton’s brain’s worked. So elegant and nimble, jumping from point to point and to the answer far faster than anyone else could. “It would have to be something morally grey, a type of weapon that would get hung up in Congress for years. A side-effect of fusion, radiation; there was that one report about attempts to miniaturize the device. I’ll have to read it again, but I remember some sort of dangerous reaction.”

 

“Well, it will have to wait until after dessert. No way I’m missing Pap’s cherry cobbler with vanilla bean ice cream.” Clint’s grin was positively seductive; Phil felt the thrill of turning a corner and getting close to the capture. “We can make plans while we eat.”

* * *

 

 

“Barton! Come on in and have a drink.” Tony’s voice carried over the jazz music floating out of the salon. “I was just telling Pepper your theory about the Pollock she wants to buy. I’ve think I’ve got her talked into the Berman instead.”

 

“Tony.” Pepper put her hand on his shoulder and reeled him back. “Let Clint get a drink before you drag him into an argument.”

 

“Right, scotch? Bourbon? Never mind, I’ll pick.” He wandered off towards the buffet that was ladened with finger foods and open bottles of liquor.

 

There were others spread out through the room; Rhodes was by the fireplace talking to a willowy blonde in a fitted white dress that hugged everyone of her curves yet still managed to look professional. A younger man in a bespoke suit from the finest Italian tailor sat in a burgundy leather chair, a slim cigaretto dangling from his long lingers. With the same chin and cheekbones, he was a male version of the woman with Rhodey, probably twins.

 

“Tony’s on a tear tonight,” Pepper murmured. “If you can run interference, I’d appreciate it.”

 

“I’ll do what I can,” Clint promised. “Just bypass the Pollock for me. It’s not worth the price they’re asking.”

 

He started to where Tony was topping off his own drink, but was intercepted by a regal woman in a grey suit so finely cut it could only be a Leonard Logsdail. A coil of blonde curls was pulled back with a diamond encrusted clip; her ice blue eyes brimmed with intelligence and humor.

 

“The infamous Clint Barton.” She stopped him with just two fingers on his arm. “It’s a delight to finally put a face to the name.”

 

“Lady Odinson.” Clint inclined his head; Frigga was royalty in her own right, descended from Norwegian queens. “I’m honored.”

 

She arched a plucked eyebrow, unimpressed. “I hear you’ve made a career change.”

 

“I have.” He didn’t ask how she knew; rumors were that she was the true power behind World Tree. Her husband was too busy engaging in a multitude of affairs to handle all the details. “I find my new line of work agrees with me.”

 

“Indeed.” Her eyes surveyed him from tip of his hat to his polished shoes. “I can see that. Perhaps, then, it won’t be too awkward to ask if you’ve heard from my son lately.”

 

He knew she meant Loki; it wasn’t exactly a secret they had been partners for awhile. “Which son? I’ve seen two of them in recent days.”

 

For that bit of information, he got a both eyebrows and a slight pause. “Interesting,” was all she said for a moment. “Ah, Thor’s young scientist. He must have followed her here. She seems nice enough but I’ve only see her file. Meeting her in person would be much more productive. I had hoped to see her on our visit but it seems she isn’t at her job.”

 

A fishing expedition. She wanted to know what was going on at Johtun but she was unaware of Thor’s presence. The fact she’d asked about Loki meant his location was known. “Terrible thing,” Clint replied with a long suffering sigh. “The city can be so dangerous; at least the good Doctor is just shaken up. I imagine she’ll be back to work as soon as the villains of the piece are caught.”

 

“Indeed.” Frigga’s lips turned up at the edges. “I imagine Thor will see to it. And since there’s been no report of an earthquake or lightning storm, he is blissfully unaware of his brother’s shenanigans.” She sighed and Clint saw the mother, worried about her children, not the matriarch of a billion dollar family. “Perhaps your turn will rub off on him. He has such talent; were he to use it for the family business, everyone would be much happier.”

 

“If I may,” Clint tossed out, treading on shaky ground. “I doubt he will ever be content working for his father. Too much water under the bridge. Perhaps, instead, acquisitions? You have an extensive collection that needs oversight, someone to plan for the future and purchase new art. He would thoroughly enjoy beating others to the best pieces.”

 

She blinked, stared at him for a second too long, then a real smile curled across her face. “You care for him. Still. After what he did to you.”

 

Clint shrugged. “He had his reasons; I’d like to see him out of the game before the game takes him out. You’re right; he has a lot to offer.”

 

“All those years I worried and it turns out you’re a good man, Clint Barton.” She patted his shoulder. “If you see Loki, please tell him I love and miss him.”  With that, she took her glass and made her way to the buffet,  

 

“Well, now, Obi, I think that’s a grand idea.” Tony’s voice grew louder. “By all means, let’s talk about it.”

 

Pepper had been waylaid by an Asian gentleman in a suit and Rhodey was still locked in conversation with one of the Odinson children, probably Freya if Clint judged right. She and her twin Frey, the man in the chair, were the faces of the company, working with their mother on a number of charity projects. That left only Clint to salvage the situation.

 

“Tony, Tony,” Clint said, strolling their way. He snagged the almost full scotch from Tony’s hand. “I was wondering where my drink went. You were going to get me one?”

 

“Right! Another drink.” Tony turned and almost stumbled; Clint caught his elbow and helped him stay upright. “I need one.”

 

“You’ve had enough,” Obediah Stane hissed in Tony’s direction. “I think it’s time for us to retire to the dining room. Are you joining us, Mr. Barton?”

As usual, Clint’s name was laced with distaste. The CEO of Stark Industries did not like Clint one bit. It probably had something to do with Clint’s first case with the FBI; they’d been hard on Stane’s heels but he’d gotten away.

 

“No thank you. I’ve already eaten.” Clint kept his hold on Tony. “Although I would like to borrow Tony for a moment. I have an eye on a lovely Vasnetsov he might be interested in.”

 

“The Three Princesses?” Pepper smoothly inserted herself into the conversation. “I heard rumors it was coming up for bid.”

 

“Seems the dealer is an old friend; I might be able to get you a preview.” Clint turned, neatly putting himself between Tony and Obediah. From the look on the older man’s face, he knew exactly what Clint was up to. “It will cost a fortune, but it’s an amazing work of art.”

 

“If you’d give us a moment,” Pepper said to Lady Odinson. “We’ll be right in.”

 

As soon as the others left the room, Tony stood up straight and brushed an imaginary speck off his jacket sleeve.  “What a fun evening this is shaping up to be! Guess what Abba Momma is sniffing around? Seems Johtun may be in the market to sell a cold fusion patent and the fix is in on the buyer.”

 

“Stark Industries.” Clint supplied the answer. Of course, Obediah would be interested; he had the pull and the deep pockets to weaponize the design.

 

“Give the man a cookie!” Tony slapped him on the back. “And, by the way, your visitor is safely tucked upstairs. I tried to get him to come to dinner -- it would be a hoot and a half to have him suddenly appeared -- but he preferred to keep his presence for your eyes only.”

 

“You are not nearly as drunk as I thought you were,” Pepper complained. “We’ve talked about this.”

 

“I was undercover,” Tony protested. “I knew Clint would want the downlow on his latest case.”

 

“Which you’re not supposed to know about,” Clint reminded him. Not that a warning ever stopped Tony Stark.

 

“Hey, I’m the only name in environmentally friendly energy. If someone’s going to merchandize cold fusion, it’s going to be me, dammit,” Tony said.

 

“So it really works?” Pepper asked. “If SI buys it …”

 

“There have to be problems. I know the guy they bought the plans from; he was brilliant but could never get a working model. Met him in Madrid one time. I’m telling you, he never got a handle on the side effects.”

 

“Tony.” Rhodey stuck his head back in the room. “Get in here now or I’m telling the story of you and the Norwegian cross country ski team.”

 

“That’s a great one.” Tony snatched the tumbler from Clint’s fingers and waved it, sloshing a little over the lip. “Time to slip back into character,” he said sotto voce.  Wrapping an arm around Rhodes shoulders, Tony leaned in and began talking about ski bums and bunny slopes.

 

“Obediah brings out the worst in him,” Pepper muttered.

 

“Be careful,” Clint warned quietly. “All three of you.”

 

Her emerald eyes narrowed as she read the situation. “We will,” she promised.

 

Clint made his way upstairs, thanking Natasha’s suspicious nature for the various listening devices she’d placed around the mansion. Before she’d stay anywhere, she always put up her own security system. She’d even spent a weekend adding vibration sensors to the windows in Clint’s apartment.

 

“You mother says she loves you and misses you,” Clint said, shutting and locking the door behind him. “You should call her more often.”

 

“I should,” Loki agreed, catching Clint by the wrist and spinning him around, pressing his back against the wall. “But there are so much more pleasant things to do.”

 

His mouth sucked on the tender skin behind the ear and Clint shivered. “She knows you’re in town.”

 

“Ummmm.” Loki tugged Clint’s shut out of his pants, popping buttons open with his facile fingers. “She usually knows where I am. And I know where I want you right now.”

 

Loosening Clint’s tie, Loki yanked it off so he could push both shirt and jacket off Clint’s shoulders.

 

“Didn’t know Thor had joined the party.” Clint’s words were breathy, caught up in his racing heartbeat and stirring libido. “She was surprised to hear …”

 

“Good God.” Loki stepped back, his eyes flush with passion, frustration evident in his voice. “If you really don’t want to do this, just say something. There’s no bigger cockblock than talking about my mother and my oh-so-perfect brother.”

 

“I want this.” Clint turned the tables, spinning Loki around and pushing him backwards, knocking him onto the bed and climbing on top of him. “Just thought you’d want to know.”

 

“You wanted to see what I already knew,” he shot back, threading a hand into Clint’s hair. “I might forgive you if you shut up and kiss me.”

 

Clint did, a kiss that was about dominance as much as romance. He ground his hips down, rolling them against Loki’s.

 

“You smell like him,” Loki murmured into Clint’s ear. “Coffee and cheap suits and stale air. Your Fed.”

 

“Does that matter?” Clint asked, his lips making a beeline to Loki’s nipple.

 

“Not to me.” Loki arched up with a gasp of pleasure as Clint sucked on the hardening nub. “Just thought you’d want to know.”

 

When they were done, Loki levered himself up, picking his shirt off the bed and his pants from the floor. “I can’t stay. Utgard’s demand we all work overtime now that mother has arrived with the wonder twins in tow. She busy hiding anything incriminating on that little tablet she keeps with her at all times; I hear it’s her own and no one from IT ever touches it.”

 

Clint lazily watched as Loki stepped into his pants and slid them over his very nice ass. This was how it happened between them; nothing was free and everything was part of the game. If Loki was giving him valuable information like where to find the files they needed, then he wanted something in return. “And that means less of an access window to nab the painting,” he surmised.

 

“We’ll have to go for the cocktail party on Friday night; fairly easy to cause a commotion just by tossing Thor in Mother’s path. And some of your FBI friends should be there.” He paused, wrinkling his nose. “Now that’s an oxymoron. FBI. Friend. Blech. I don’t know how you stand it.”

 

Rolling onto his side, Clint propped his elbow on the bed. “It’s really not that hard. You should try it sometime; making friends, that is.”

 

“I have you. That’s more than enough.” Loki, shirt still unbuttoned, leaned down and kissed Clint, a slow goodbye. “Will you have the forgery ready by then?”

 

“Absolutely. I’ll get it to you Friday morning; that gives it enough time to dry properly,” Clint promised.

 

“Hope you’ve hidden it well. That Suit seems to follow you everywhere.” Loki paused at the door, his shoes in his hand. “Can’t decide if it’s because he’s worried about what you’ll steal or wants to be closer to you.”

 

“Phil takes his job seriously.” Clint sat up, stretching, unconcerned about his nudity. “And I’m not his type.”

 

“Lord save me from noble men.” Loki rolled his eyes. “Denial is not in my wheel well.”

 

Padding across the floor on his bare feet, Clint locked the door behind Loki as he left. Snatching his phone from the end table, he ignored Loki’s parting shot. “Coulson? I think I know where to find the missing info. All we need is a distraction and a key card.to get in Utgard’s office.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, right? Clint, what are you doing? The more I write Loki as Alex, the more he becomes a mirror for Tony, a misguided guy who makes bad choice. But that makes the whole story more interesting to me. And young Clint, on the street, learning how to cook in Pap's kitchen just does it for me. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil finds out what Utgard is really up to and Clint gets an offer that's almost too good to refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSEUDO-SCIENCE warning! I do research the science part of these stories but then I take liberties, so .... take it all with a grain of salt, hopefully one on the rim of a strawberry margarita. :)

“Excuse me, I need to take this.” Utgard checked her cell phone and stood, walking towards the door of the conference room. “Utgard,” she answered in a clipped tone. “What? When? Now? No. Keep them there. I’m on my way.” 

 

She strode into the hallway without a backwards glance. Sliding a finger to open his phone, Phil checked Maria’s message; she was downstairs at the guard desk, waiting on Utgard to make her appearance. The attack on Jane Foster gave them a good reason to ask questions, and it was obvious that Utgard would never let Gunnar face the FBI alone. At the most, the ruse would buy them no more than ten minutes before Utgard sent Maria packing. 

 

He hurried towards the office, to take up his post to watch the elevators. He passed Ron, a sales executive, and Miriam, the HR assistant, nodding to both. As he turned the corner, he  slowed  until he saw Clint who slipped through the door and pulled it shut then he stopped at the break room, grabbed a cup, Phil filled it with the thick sludge that passed for coffee. From this vantage point he could see every direction. 

 

Out of the stairwell came Magnus Martinsson, his tie loose and sleeves rolled up. He’d shed his coat, his matching blue vest buttoned around his slim waist.  “Ah, there you are. I have some more of the data files you asked for; they were tucked into a different file. And I thought computers were supposed to simplify record keeping; all it did was give us more ways to duplicate things.” 

 

Laying down the manilla folders, Magnus glanced at Phil’s cup. “Your a brave man to drink that stuff; rumor is they use the old copy toner instead of coffee to save money.” 

 

The closer Magnus got, the more Phil could see why Clint would be attracted to him. High cheekbones, soft curls, and a charming smile that  tugged at Phil’s libido. He might be an FBI agent, but he wasn’t dead. The full force of Magnus’s attention focused on him was like a physical blow. 

 

“Trust me, this is gourmet compared to coffee at Myrk Fields Headquarters. Worst cuppa ever.” Phil had actually visited the mining company during an international bond smuggling case a few years ago. 

 

“So true,” Magnus laughed. “Most believe it’s motor oil, but I’m in the toxic runoff camp.” He leaned against the counter, crossed one ankle over the other and made no bones about surveying Phil from head to toe. “And here I thought you didn’t have a sense of humor. Teach me to listen to water cooler gossip.”

 

“Oh, I always listen to gossip,” Phil replied, watching Magnus carefully. “Best way to learn the truth about a company, wouldn’t you say? Who’s dating who, who’s trustworthy ...” 

 

The slightest tightening around his smile and narrowing of eyes gave away the game; Magnus was good, damn good, but Phil had been working with the best for the last few months. “I hope you aren’t being too hard on Brian; I can be very persuasive when I want to be, and he’s just too good a morsel to pass up. But then, I think you already know that.” 

 

“Carson is free to do what he likes during the down time. As long as he does his job, I have no problem with him sleeping with the hired help.” Phil couldn’t help the tiny bit of brittleness that slipped into his tone, and Magnus didn’t miss it. The other man’s smile grew silkier and he leaned a little closer as Phil finished his reply. “Our relationship is purely business, I assure you.”

 

“Ah. I see.” Magnus pushed back a stray curl with one long, elegant finger. “So, I happen to know a lovely little cigar bar not far from here with the best bourbon in town. Perhaps tonight you’ll let me buy you a snifter and a smoke.” 

 

“And what about Carson? Is his notch already on your bedpost and now you want another?” From the corner of his eye, Phil saw a cleaning lady come out of the north corridor, pushing a garbage bin on wheels. She stopped to grab the trash can by the potted plant, emptying it with just a few efficient movements before she turned down the east wing. Brilliant green eyes saw them and she winked, tucking a red strand of hair behind her ear before she disappeared from sight. 

 

“We could always ask him to join us,” Magnus said. “He’s used to taking orders from you during the day; imagine what you could get him to do at night.” 

 

Phil sputtered on the sip of coffee, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he fumbled the cup onto the counter and grabbed a napkin. Whatever he’d been expecting, the suggestion they all have sex wasn’t it. And the twist in his gut at the thought of Clint saying yes sir to him? That was completely new. 

 

“I’m sorry; I must have misread you.” Magnus offered a handkerchief to help Phil clean the tiny splattered dots off his tie. “Forget the last few minutes or just remember my invitation for a drink. Whatever you want.” 

 

“No, No, it’s fine. I just … you caught me out, that’s all. In my experience, people usually work up to a threesome not just jump right to it,” Phil said. Across the way, the door to Utgard’s office cracked open; Clint peeked out then the door shifted closed again. There wasn’t much time left; Phil needed to get Magnus to move along quickly. “Perhaps we can discuss this in the conference room? Utgard said she’d be right back; I’d like to look at those files before she gets here.” 

 

Inclining his head, Magnus let Phil lead him down the hallway; as soon as Magnus’s back was turned, Phil waved Clint out, making sure he wasn’t seen darting into the east wing. His luck held out; just as Magnus handed the files to him, Utgard’s voice floated into the room and Magnus beat a hasty retreat, a common response to the woman’s potential presence. Now all Phil had to do was wait out the day and examine the information Clint had tonight at the office. 

* * *

 

“It’s worse,” Bruce announced as he pulled up some schematics and test results on the main screen. “I was thinking explosive potential, but this is something completely different. We’re talking zero point energy and it’s an unknown quantity. Hell, most people thought it was a pipe dream, one of those concepts that exists only in science fiction and comic books. But this is real.”

 

“Not radiation?” Steve asked, pushing aside his container of cashew chicken and flipping pages in his report. 

 

“No. Cold fusion doesn’t have the waste problems and radioactivity; that’s the draw. It’s safer for humans and the environment.” Bruce clicked on a link and pulled up a video. set up in a lab, the camera focused a small dollhouse on a table. “Many scientists have theorized that zero point energy would produce a gravitational field …”

 

“Like a black hole?” Phil stopped him to ask. “The way it pulls everything into it?” 

 

“Similar but not exactly. It’s more like going from Earth to Jupiter’s outer rings -- you’d feel weighed down. It would be harder to move, take more effort for your heart to pump blood. Brittle bones would break under the strain. Ramp up the gravity enough and instant heart attack.” He clicked play and Phil watched as a scientist placed a small circular disc about the size of a coaster into the top floor of the toy. Leaving the camera’s range, a voice counted down to zero. Without any warning, the house collapsed in on itself, plastic chipping and flying as it imploded. “Imagine something small enough to shoot from a distance or tag a person without them knowing it. Wait until they’re out of your range and then, boom, heavy gravitational point right in the middle of their chest. Add a self-immolation feature and the device disappears in the carnage.” 

 

“And if it’s bigger?” Phil thought out loud, not liking the pictures his mind was supplying. 

 

“Put on on the supporting columns of a skyscraper and watch it fall,” Clint said in a hushed voice. “Make them look like a belt buckle or cell phone and you could carry them right through security checkpoints. Onto planes, trains, in cars. Damn, this can’t fall into the wrong hands.”

 

“The saving grace, from what I can tell,” Bruce added, “is that they haven’t figured out how to make it stable yet. Got a 79% failure rate; that’s not too high to get a patent but nowhere near what they’d need to weaponize it. That’s why they need Stark Industries to pour money into the design.” 

 

“Do we have confirmation about SI’s involvement? Beyond Stark’s hunches, that is,” Maria asked. “And even if we do, it’s not illegal to sell to SI; we’ve got nothing to go on but illegally obtained information.”

 

“There’s a series of emails between Utgard and Dr. Franklin Hall, a specialist in gravitonium, a rare element,” Steve said. “Dr. Hall received a large grant from SI to continue his work, but it’s not enough for a search warrant.”  

 

“If it all came out in the open,” Phil mused.  “World Tree won’t be happy about Johtun going behind their backs to work with SI; maybe that’s our way in.” 

 

“Or,” Clint sat back and kicked his feet up on the table, “we make Utgard think she’s next on the hit list.” 

 

“How?” Steve asked. “She’s the one running the show, isn’t she?”

 

“If Obediah Stane thinks that she’s turning on him …” Phil could see how it would play out, Utgard in the dark and Stane convinced she was working for her own good. “Maybe Utgard has another buyer in mind or is getting greedy, wants more money.” 

 

“And there’s a handy Interpol agent on their trail. If she feels squeezed by Stane …” Clint continued. 

 

“She might tell all to save her own skin,” Phil finished. “Okay, what’s the plan?” 

 

“What we need is another interested party. A young entrepreneur who wants to make a name for himself, and has money to burn. Handsome, looks good in a tuxedo, can flatter Utgard and get her to smile for the cameras.” Clint looked right at Steve. “Think you can get Sharon to play your date for the cocktail party? She cuts just the right elegant frame to be the power behind the man.” 

 

“Me?” Steve’s eyes widened in surprise. “I’m not sure I can pull it off.” 

 

“Don’t worry, that’s part of your charm,” Clint promised him.

* * *

 

Phil pulled his sensible mid-sized sedan to a stop in front of the Stark Mansion, next to a blue-silver Porsche Spyder. On the seat beside him, Clint was abnormally quiet, staring up at the lit windows above. A few seconds there was nothing but the sound of the engine cooling with a series of slow ticks. 

 

“Problem?” Phil asked, turning slightly in his seat. 

 

“You were talking to Martinsson.” Clint tapped his fingers on the armrest. “He seemed … interested in your conversation.” 

 

“Charming fellow,” Phil admitted. “A bit too blunt for my tastes though; he asked me out for a drink.”

 

Clint’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment and he chuckled. “Of course he did. The man’s incorrigible.” 

 

“Then he went on to suggest a threesome.” Phil had held that bit of information in his pocket all day, waiting for the right moment to spring it on Barton. It was worth it to see the flush creep up Clint’s neck and the surprise mirrored in his eyes. First he sat speechless then he laughed out loud. 

 

“Oh, God, I needed that.” He spread a hand over his chest and let the contagious laughter flow. Soon Phil was chuckling along, tension releasing as he relaxed in his seat. 

 

“I spit coffee on my tie,” Phil admitted. “He just came right out with it, no warning at all.” 

 

“Want to grab a drink and, oh, hey, let’s invite your underling along for the ride?” Clint wiped the tears that gathered at the corner of his eyes. 

 

“His hinted that you’d be good at following orders. Shows what he knows; I’m pretty sure you’ve never submitted to anyone.” The words rolled off his tongue and hung in the air between them, vibrations that bounced through the car as they faded. Muscles froze in Phil’s throat, laughter died away and his eyes were drawn to Clint’s face; for the barest of seconds, the mask slipped and Phil caught a glimpse of uncertainty, a tiny hint of self-doubt, a flash of what might be … and then Barton looked back at him as he let a sassy grin unfurl across his face. 

 

“Well, now, that wouldn’t exactly be true,” Clint said, hand sliding to the door handle. “But that’s a story for another time. Catch you in the morning.” 

 

He was out of the car, walking up the steps with a slight swagger, hat tipped down as he opened the front door, never looking back. Dropping his head on the steering wheel, Phil banged into the rubber grip three times for being such an idiot. 

* * *

 

 

“The distraction is in the works.” Clint rolled onto his back, sweaty and still breathing hard; with one foot flat on the bed, knee bent, his other foot absently rubbing up and down Loki’s ankle. 

 

“And you have more work for your inside man?” Loki propped himself up on his elbow, leaving a hand free to trace the lines of Clint’s abs. His grin was infectious; Clint found himself returning it. “Might have to wait for awhile until I’m up for it.” 

 

“You are terrible,” Clint countered, rolling his eyes. “But yes, I’ve got some files for you to tuck away in the network.” 

 

“Going to let me in on the plan or am I relegated to a yes man role?” Light brush of fingers circled higher, casually curling around Clint’s already chapped nipples then up to his chin. 

 

“Best I can do is keep things separate. They don’t know about you, you don’t know about them.” Clint was trying his best to straddle the line between friendship and his own strained moral code, and Loki’s caresses weren’t making it easier. “Just be ready at the reception tomorrow night. You’ll know when to go.” 

 

“I’m always ready.” Loki bent his head and brushed his lips over Clint’s; for a man with as many walls as Loki had, he could be ever so open. It always surprised Clint how Loki’s family couldn’t see the heart he wore on his sleeve. “Once I’ve got the painting, I’m off; too many relatives around here for my comfort. I’m thinking somewhere warm with a beach and excellent rum.” He kissed Clint again then paused, his face hovering just inches away from Clint’s. “Come with me.” 

 

Clint opened his mouth but Loki cut him off and kept going. “Oh, I know, not going back to jail, being free to live your life, blah, blah, and all that bullshit. We both know that’s a giant justification; people like us are always going to be running from something. Cut the anklet and we’ll hop on the first plane out. Give up the idea of going straight; you’ll never be happy that way. The game is in your blood and we make a damn good team You and me, giving the world the finger. Together.” 

 

A lump rose in Clint’s throat and blocked his logical answer, shoving the carefully crafted words back down. A stab of want pierced Clint’s chest; the rush, the high, the sex, the ever so alluring siren’s call of the con. Truth was, Loki was a drug, just like the theft and the danger. Clint could see himself on that beach, feet in the sand, glass of whiskey and wash of the ocean over his toes. Why wasn’t he taking Loki up on the offer?

 

“I … I can’t,” he admitted. “Don’t ask me why; I don’t have an answer for you. I just know I need to stay here.” 

 

Hand cupping Clint’s chin, Loki tilted his head and his smile turned rueful. “Never thought I’d hear Clint Barton admit he didn’t know every angle. Ah, well, it was worth a try. Play agent then, but remember you can always ask if you need help finding Barney. On that issue, we’re on the same page.” 

 

“Oh, I will,” he promised and meant it. When the time came, he planned to call in every marker he had. “Don’t doubt it.” 

 

“But I don’t want the details of you and your Suit’s exploits,” Loki said. “I might get jealous.” 

 

“Or want to join in?” The question broke the serious of the last few minutes. Loki chuckled and Clint tugged him in for one last kiss. “Good at taking orders, my ass.” 

 

“Stranger things have happened,” Loki replied. “Like you deciding to go straight. Never saw that coming.”

 

Laying down on his side, Loki curved his body around Clint’s, his head on Clint’s shoulder. Long slow even breaths synced and Clint began to relax; he should get some rest. Tomorrow was going to a Rube Goldberg kind of day and he needed to have all his wits about him. 

 

“If he hurts you or turns on you, I’ll take care of payback,” Loki murmured, already half-asleep. 

 

“And I’ll let you,” Clint mumbled in reply. “But he won’t.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki is more human in this story and I think I like this kind of Loki. He honestly does care about Clint, in his own twisted way.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The con is on ... or should Clint say cons? Phil finds out, Stane gets pissed, someone confesses, and someone else gets away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we come to an end of this case. I'm thinking of these like a season of a TV show. Each story is an episode with a mystery that gets solved but with a longer arc story. Don't know how many stories yet, but the next one is formenting in my head and involves an upscale gentlemen's club and an undercover stripper Clint. Hope you're enjoying this AU; I'm certainly having a good time challenging myself with cons and slight of hands.

 

“You clean up nicely,” Phil told Steve who was fidgeting in his tuxedo. Nothing rented for him; Clint had found a tailor who worked magic on the agent’s athletic frame.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a penguin suit.” 

 

“I prefer sweats and a ball cap.” Steve tugged at his collar and Sharon caught his wrist, winding her fingers with his. 

 

“Stop that; you’ll ruin the line.” She looked ravishing in a simple black sheath slit up the side, elegance and grace personified. “Every woman in the room is going to be jealous and trying to steal you away from me.”

 

“I’m going to have to beat the men off with a stick.” Steve kissed her on the cheek. 

 

“Good, that means you’ll be the center of attention just like we want.” Phil cut off the conversation as the limo arrived at Johtun’s headquarters. “Now to make an entrance.” 

 

The message had gone out with the help of Pepper Potts, some manufactured emails and phone records plus a hint in the right ear about Thor’s presence and the CEO of Stark Industry had started making inquiries about potential competitors. They’d carefully planned their arrival to the maximum effect, before Tony and Stane but after the party had started. Utgard couldn’t help but wonder who Steve was and why he was with Phil. Thor was already circulating, Dr. Donald Blake making the rounds, looking suspiciously like he was casing the room. And Clint, well, Barton was AWOL for the moment; he’d left a message that he’d meet them here, and the terse text raised every hackle on Phil’s neck. 

 

As they exited and walked into the well-lit lobby, Phil turned the last few days over in his mind. He’d missed something, some angle that Barton was playing; he couldn’t help the niggling doubt that was roiling his stomach. The only detail unaccounted for was Clint’s relationship with Martinsson; Phil had specifically not asked because he didn’t really want to know if they were sleeping together. 

 

“And who are your friends?” Utgard asked as she sidled up to Phil, her eyes taking in every inch of Steve’s body, lingering on his ass. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

 

“Malcolm Reynolds and his wife Inara,” Phil motioned their way. “Let me introduce Ingrid Utgard; she’s overseeing the project I was telling you about.” 

 

“Ah, yes,” Steve offered his hand. “I was so hoping to talk to you about Ymir. Such an amazing advancement, just the kind I want to invest in.”

 

Phil watched as Steve and Sharon corralled Utgard, keeping her attention fixed on them, then he surveyed the room. CEOs, bankers, lawyers … a lot of movers and shakers had turned out to meet Lady Odinson; even the mayor of New York was due to make an appearance. No one wanted to miss a chance to syphon money from World Tree for their pet cause. Standing by the bar, Clint was laughing with Frey Odinson and Robert Kendrick, a curator at the Guggenheim. Had the man known he was standing companionably with the thief who’d stolen three pieces from the Thannhauser collection, he’d probably be mortified. 

 

“He mingles so well,” Lady Odinson said as she came to stand beside Phil. “Such easy charm; that’s what gets him into trouble. I should know; my Loki is just like him.”

 

“It can be handy, though,” Phil replied. “My mother always said my stubborn nature caused me grief.”   

 

“That too can be a benefit if used correctly. You, for example, never give up. What’s that American phrase? Oh, yes, you always get your man.” She smiled, inclined her head in response to a greeting from someone else, and then turned towards him, creating a more intimate conversation space. “I feel I should thank you for the opportunity you’ve give our Mr … Carson, is it? Perhaps his change of circumstances will rub off on my son. I can only hope Loki’s damage is at a minimum here; technically, the company owns the Matisse and it’s insured.” 

 

The other shoe dropped: Loki was in New York, after a Matisse, and Clint had to know. Hell, Clint was probably helping him steal it. “I do love a good Matisse,” Phil said, masking the rising anger he felt. “But I wouldn’t hold my breath about Barton being a good influence.”

 

“A mother can dream.” She picked up a champagne flute from a passing tray. “I had hoped to see him tonight but it won’t be the first time I’ve been disappointed. Ah, well, there’s always my other son to catch up with.” 

 

Magnus Martinsson. Flirting with Phil, kissing Clint when he damn well knew Phil was watching … Phil had only seen one picture of Laufeyson -- the man was notoriously camera shy -- and that was a grainy one taken from afar. But Phil would bet money that Clint’s new boyfriend was none other than his ex-partner in crime. Maybe not so ex any more. 

 

Crossing the floor with a determined stride, Phil didn’t wait for the conversation to stop at his intrusion; he looped his hand around Clint’s wrist and said, “Excuse me. I need a word with Mr. Carson,” before he pulled Clint after him. Past the coat room, down a hallway, Phil pushed Clint into the guards’ break room and shut the door behind them. 

 

“What’s up?” Clint looked confused, his eyes locked on Phil’s face. “Something happen? Are we on schedule?” 

 

“Where’s the Matisse? It has to be in the building. You planning on using Stane and Utgard as your cover?” Phil didn’t hesitate, fueled by the sense of betrayal he felt. “Where’s Loki?” 

 

Clint sucked in a quick breath before he replied. “The painting’s Gunnar’s office. But I promise that no one’s walking out of the building with it. I’ve got a plan …”

 

“Plan. Of course you do. It’s called screwing Phil over in order to get a cut. No, scratch that. It’s Loki you’re screwing.” Phil wasn’t sure which pissed him off more; the lies about who Loki was or what Clint was doing with him.

 

“No, you’ve got it all wrong …” Clint protested.

 

“You’re not sleeping with a known criminal? Part of your release was to avoid contact with past associates. Any contact.” He should arrest Clint right now, drag him out of the building to a holding cell, but damn it, he needed him to stop Utgard’s plan. 

 

“What should I have done?” Clint demanded, his cheeks flushing as he grew angry. “Let Loki steal the damn thing? Ruin our chances of protecting Jane Foster? I didn’t know if he was involved with Utgard or not.” 

 

“You should have told me. We can’t make this work if you keep secrets. I can’t provide the protection you need from those who want you back in prison.” There were those who were waiting for Clint to mess up, to toss him back in for a longer stretch. “Damn it, Clint. I’m trying to help you.” 

 

The words hung between them for the space of two breaths. “I’m not used to sharing. It’s … difficult to change. Loki, I understand; he’ll doublecross me if he can but mostly like he won’t. But you? I’ve got no clue how a good man thinks. I just …” He stalled, his natural eloquence deserting him. “ I won’t let him hurt the case. I promise.” 

 

“How can I trust you?” Phil asked. “You lied to me.” 

 

The mask slipped; Clint’s eyes clouded and he reached out, aborting the move before he touched Phil, pulling back into himself. “You’re right. You can’t trust me. Hell, even I don’t know when I’m telling the truth anymore.” 

 

“Clint.” It was probably a ploy, but the emotion mirrored was different, more raw, less polished. Catching Clint’s hand, Phil held it in his own. “I …” His phone buzzed and there was no question but to read the message from Steve. “Stane’s here.”

 

“Game’s in play; best get to it.” Clint started to pull away, but Phil squeezed his hand, tangling their fingers together for a heartbeat then letting him go. 

 

“We’ll take this up later. Right now, what’s the plan to stop Loki from getting the painting?” Phil needed to focus on the problem at hand. “And how do we juggle him and Utgard?”

 

“We’ll improvise a bit. You take Thor; at 7:50 tell him Loki is here to steal the Matisse. That ought to start the ball rolling. I’ll take Tony and make a scene,” Clint said. 

 

The hardest bit had been figuring out how to be both a World Tree employees for Utgard and an FBI agent for Stane. The answer came in the form of Pepper Potts, who very graciously offered Phil her arm as he came up to her and gave him a dazzling smile. 

 

“There you are! It’s so good to see you,” she said, tucking her hand in his elbow. “I’m looking forward to catching up.” 

 

There was little Stane could say as they walked away and nothing Utgard missed about the cozy way Pepper’s head tilted close as she talked about her day. Soon, Stane would learn that not only were the FBI sniffing around, but Interpol as well; the last thing he’d want is official interest in the project. Between that and Steve’s very obvious presence … Phil held his breath as Tony sauntered over, his eyes surveying Steve from head-to-toe with a rapacious gleam. Too far away to hear the conversation, Phil had to rely on body language to read the situation. At first, Steve played his part well, the confident entrepreneur, but then he began to tense his shoulder, stand up straighter and glare at the dark-haired genius. Tony got looser as he drank one martini in a gulp, replacing it with another right away.

 

“He’ll be fine,” Pepper said, breaking into Phil’s thoughts. “Tony’s just revving him up. Obi  hates when Tony flirts with the competition. No better way to signal your man is a potential bidder than let Tony piss him off.” 

 

“It’s a strange world you live in,” Phil told her.

 

“Tell me about it,” she replied. “Although from the thunder on your face when we came in, I suspect you’re having similiar problems. I take it you found out about Loki being here? I wasn’t sure if I should tell you or not. Tony has a soft spot for black sheep of the family; he let Loki have the run of the house. Security started checking the inventory as soon as Laufeyson left this morning.” 

 

This morning. A cold spike of emotion boosted Phil. and he drew himself together. 

 

“Oh, Phil.” Pepper’s eyes filled with sympathy. “You didn’t know?” 

 

Phil deposited his glass on a passing tray. “Stane’s on the move; keep your head down.” 

 

Checking the time, Phil moved towards the Odinsons, who were clustered by the bar. Clint, he noticed, had joined Tony and Steve; no one could miss Obediah making his way to Utgard, guests parting before him like he was Moses and they were the Red Sea. Tension broadcast from his frame, a cigar clamped between his teeth, his balding head reflecting the light. 

 

It was time for his move. Clint could be written off as Tony inviting his annoying thief friend along, but Phil was a different story. With a purposeful stride, Phil made it to Utgard first, stepping smoothly in front of Stane and offering Utgard his hand. “I just wanted to say thank you for your cooperation,” he said. “You certainly made my job much easier.” 

 

“Of course.” She inclined her head, smooth fall of blonde hair brushing her shoulder. “I assume you got what you needed?”

 

“More. You are a real asset, Ms. Utgard. We’ll be in touch.” 

 

Veering to his right, Phil made a beeline away from the blast radius, pretending not to notice when Stane slipped an arm around Utgard’s waist and ushered her to the edge of the crowd. The clock on the wall clicked over to 7:39 pm and the CEO Gunnar took the microphone, smiling at the gathered people, oblivious to the intense whispered dialogue happening on the edges. 

 

“We’re honored to have such august visitors this evening here at Johtun Industries. Lady Odinson, it is a pleasure and I hope this is the beginning of a long and profitable relationship. I’m so excited for things to come; together we’re going to change the very fabric of the world!” he announced. “Please, eat, drink. Take the time to enjoy the artwork in the lobby and the mezzanine. And don’t forget the small museum dedicated to our company’s illustrious history just off the balcony level.”

 

The music started, a lovely string quartet perched on the balcony, and chatter started up again. Stane glowered, Utgard paled, and Phil took a step forward just as he heard Clint say, “Tony, I think that’s enough.” 

 

In the space of a minute, Steve backed away as alcohol splashed onto his tuxedo. Tony reached out to brush at the fabric, and Steve blocked him. Then it was a flurry of arms and legs as Tony went stumbling into the bar; glassware crashed and people darted out of the way. 

 

The distraction served its purpose; everyone’s eyes were drawn to the spectacle Stark was making, even Obediah and Utgard. Phil had just enough time to make his way to Thor’s side 

 

“Your brother is here,” Phil told the Interpol agent. “I believe he’s after the Matisse in Gunnar’s office.” 

 

Anger flared in Thor’s eyes; he spun on his heel and marched straight to his mother, Phil on his heels. “You knew of Loki’s presence?” he asked her. 

 

“He’s my son, just as you are,” she replied, calm in the face of Thor’s anger. 

 

“Well, he stealing a painting while you drink champagne,” Thor declared. “Damn it, you have a blind spot when it comes to him.”

 

“Stealing?” Gunnar asked, Thor’s voice grabbing his attention. “Who’s stealing what?” 

 

“We need to get to your office.” Thor headed to the elevator bank, leaving a wake of confused people. By the time they got to the open car, Thor’s mother, brother, and sister were just behind Phil, piling into the small square. They were all so beautiful, tall, blonde; Phil stuck out like a sore thumb. 

 

“He’s probably planning on replacing it with a forgery,” Phil said to break the tension. “He’s counting on no one noticing.” 

 

Thor was out the door before it was completely open, sprinting down the hall, calling his brother’s name. So much for the element of surprise; Phil sighed and started after him, only to be drawn up short at the door to the CEO’s office. One glance and he saw a gilt frame leaning against the sofa, a painted scene with a window and vase of flowers stretched inside. An empty space on the wall told the rest of the story, along with a screwdriver and set of tools on the floor. 

 

“He can’t have gotten far. The stairs in the west wing lead straight to the underground garage.” Thor spun on his heel and was off, leaving a bewildered family staring at where he had been standing. 

 

Phil paused in front the elevator bank, a thought niggling at his brain. The one they’d rode up in was still on this floor, two more in the lobby, and one was two floor above where the R&D labs … “Fuck,” he breathed the word as realization hit. “Fucking hell.” 

 

Reversing directions he made the east wing stairs in a couple heartbeats, slamming through the door and pelting up the two flights, thankful that he stayed in shape for just such moments. The room he wanted wasn’t far; all Loki needed was a key card and passcode of the lead scientist and he’d have the cold fusion files to sell to the highest bidder. The open door proved Phil’s hunch as much as the jump drive in Loki’s hand as he ejected it from the laptop on the counter. 

 

“Stop right there.” Phil pointed his gun at Loki. “Hand over the data and the painting.” 

 

“Ah, Agent Coulson. I was wondering how long it would take you to figure things out. Anyone who can run Clint to ground is smart enough to work out my plan.” His smile wasn’t nearly as flirtatious as it had been. 

 

“You going to leave Clint holding the bag again?” Phil barred the exit. “After he kept your secret?”

 

“Technically, he hanging from a harness and, as I always remind him, he got away without a scratch,” Loki explained. “I’m doing you a favor, you know. Stane doesn’t need his hands on this data.” 

 

“I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re not selling it to the highest bidder? Not going to buy that one.”  Now Phil had Loki’s number, and he wasn’t going to believe a word he said. “Put the jump drive on the table.” 

 

Carefully, Loki laid it down. “I do have a sense of self-preservation; my buyer is interested in the energy applications. I have no desire to see terrorists gain new weapons for their arsenal.” 

 

“Now the Matisse,” Phil ordered. 

 

“He turned me down.” Loki looked Phil right in the eye. “I offered him half the painting’s finder fee. Asked him to join me on a beach somewhere; he said no. Says he wants to work off his sentence, but I think it’s more than that. He likes working with you, Agent. Can’t see it myself, but Clint does. Just thought you’d like to know.” 

 

Before Phil could repeat his order, Thor barged into the room. “Loki. Stop this madness.” 

 

“Ah, brother. Ever so observant. Or were you just so caught up in your mousey little scientist that you didn’t see me?” Loki’s handsome face twisted into a sneer. “Did you run to mother right away? Think she’ll approve of your little miss?” 

 

“I swear, brother, we can work this out.” Thors pushed around Phil, nudging him closer to the jump drive on the table. “Come home.” 

 

Ignoring his brother, Loki addressed Phil. “Your choice, Special Agent. The data or the painting. 3, 2, …” 

 

Phil grabbed the drive before Loki got to one. With a grin, Loki darted forward, circling out of Thor’s reach then using the heavy plastic art tube to whack Thor’s knees out from under him. Pocketing the drive, Phil tried to get to the door first, but Thor roared his brother’s name and went charging after him. 

 

Standing there, watching Thor disappear, Phil wondered when he’d lost control, and he was sure Barton had something to do with it. With Thor in pursuit, Phil turned and made his way back to Gunnar’s office where he found Clint, Steve, and Sharon along with Gunner and Utgard. The Odinsons, it seemed, had returned to the party.

 

“I can’t believe Martinsson would do this,” Gunnar was saying, tilting the painting to look at the back. “He’s such a jovial fellow.”

 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Utgard huffed. “You would see the best in the devil himself. The man was smarmy; I should have seen through him.” 

 

Bending over, Clint took a closer look at the canvas, sniffing along the frame, touching the paint with a fingertip and tasting. “I think we’re jumping the gun,” he announced. “This is the original.” 

 

“What? Gunnar asked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

 

“He didn’t have time to switch them?” Steve interjected. 

 

“Are you sure?” Utgard asked. “We need to verify the authenticity.” 

 

“Luckily, Ms. Carter did her thesis on Matisse. Sharon?” Clint stepped aside and gave Sharon room. When all eyes turned to her, Clint winked at Phil; he’d arranged to have an expert on hand just like he’d taken care of every other detail. But if this was the original … Phil shook his head and turned his chuckle into a cough before anyone but Clint caught it. Damn it all, somehow Clint had already switched the paintings; Loki was making his getaway with a copy. 

 

“I can test the acidity of the paint and the pigment composition to be sure, but this is the real deal. I have no doubt,” she replied. 

 

“Excellent!” Gunnar’s smile returned and he slapped Utgard on the shoulder. “Our friends interrupted the crime! Perhaps we have no need to involve the police, eh? We don’t need the bad publicity.” 

 

“Oh for God’s sake, they’re FBI, you idiot.” Utgard moved out of arm range, brushing away his touch. “I can’t believe they promoted you.”

 

“Mr. Gunnar, why don’t we go back to the party,” Sharon said kindly, taking the man’s arm. “And let these fine people figure all this out. I’m thirsty and could use another glass of champagne.”

 

“Of course, my dear,” Gunnar held out his elbow and glowered at Utgard. “All is well if federal agents are on the case.” 

 

“I want to turn myself in,” Utgard said as soon as the CEO left. “I’ll admit to contracting the killings of two employees and an attempt on a third, along with falsifying documents presented to the government. Take me in now.” 

 

“Why Ms. Utgard,” Clint drawled. “One would think you were running scared of something. Or someone.” 

 

“I know my rights,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height. “If possible, I’d prefer no handcuffs; there are photographers outside.” 

 

“If you come along voluntarily, I think we can pull a car up to the elevators in the garage,” Phil promised. “Steve?’ 

 

“On it. Oh, and what about the painting? Shouldn’t it be put somewhere safe?” he asked.

 

“I’ll …” Clint started. 

 

“I’ll take care of it,” Phil interrupted. Clint merely shrugged and gave in gracefully. “Oh, and send word to Maria to let Jane Foster out of protective custody.” 

* * *

 

“It’s only been two days,” Natasha said, curled in the corner of his couch with her bare feet tucked beneath her. “Laufeyson has a long memory; he’ll wait until you won’t see it coming to get his revenge.”

 

Clint slipped his suit jacket onto the wooden hanger and loosened his tie. He didn’t have to be in the same room to know Natasha had that disapproving look on her face. “I’ve been busy with  Utgard’s case,” he explained. “I doubt Loki would contact me at FBI headquarters.”

 

She snorted then replied. “Shit creek, Barton. You are on his permanent black list now. And that man can hold a grudge. You left him with nothing. Then there’s Stane to think about; twice now you and your Suit have crossed him. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who takes that lightly.” 

 

Shirt then belt then he stepped out of his trousers, his shoes already back in their place. “I’m not worried,” he said as he grabbed a pair of soft grey cotton pajama pants and an old faded MOMA t-shirt. “I’m more concerned about Coulson; he’s been avoiding me.” 

 

“Well, you did lie to him. Can’t say I particularly blame him for being pissed off. Personally, it was damn hard to watch you give the real Matisse to Loki for the switch.” She glanced over as he came out of the hallway and waved her glass of sauvignon blanc. “I could have sold that for a tidy sum.”

 

“And gotten me sent back to prison,” Clint reminded her. He poured himself a glass and leaned against the kitchen counter, staring out at the lights of Manhattan. “I kind of like the view from here.” 

 

“Un-huh.” Natasha unfolded herself and stood up, stretching her arm up and bending her back into a perfect arch. “You like the view, all right.” 

 

“Can we not play this game right now?” Even Natasha’s gentle poking was too much; last thing Clint wanted to do was delve into the strange discomfort he was feeling. “I just want to drink this wine and listen to some jazz. Unwind.”

 

“Sure, mishka. No talking about the Suit for a while.” She crossed the small space and rinsed out her empty glass. “But soon we’ll have a long discussion about your taste in men. Besides, I’ve got business to attend to; seems someone’s in the market to sell a Frida Hansen tapestry. Gorgeous, or so I hear. Stuffed down in a basement storage gathering dust, or so the rumor goes.”

 

Knowing her, she’d tucked in the garbage bin and walked right out with it; she was so good that Johtun wouldn’t miss it for years. “That’s interesting. Let me know what you find out,” was all he said.

 

His phone buzzed and showed an unknown number with a Barbados area code. There was only one person it could be. “Loki,” he told Natasha. “Told you.” 

 

Putting the glass in the dishwasher, Natasha wrinkled her nose at him as Clint answered. “He’ll be all charming and contrite, and you’ll buy it.” 

 

“Hello?” Clint said, swatting Natasha away when she tried to grab the phone; she wanted it on speaker so she could hear but this was a private conversation. 

 

“Please tell the Widow that her art skills have only grown better; such delicate strokes, I knew it couldn’t be your work.” Loki’s voice oozed with good humor. “Yours are much more forceful.” 

 

“I thought you liked them that way,” Clint replied. Wincing, Natasha slipped on her shoes. “How’s the beach?”

 

“Sunny and warm with the most gorgeous cabana boy. Speaks next-to-no English, but we manage,” Loki told him. In the background, Clint could hear the murmur of other people and an occasional cry of  a seagull. “I should be angry with you, but I just can’t find it in my heart to do so. Considering I had to cut the art expert in for 20% of the sale, I came out better than had you taken me up on my offer.” 

 

“You faked the authentication. Of course you did.” Clint couldn’t help but chuckle. “Always land on your feet.”

 

“It’s a talent you seem to enjoy,” he replied. 

 

“And your buyer for the reactor technology? He as forgiving?” Clint asked. 

 

“Ah, well, that was a long shot to start with. Even with Daddy sending his own team to take over the company, I’m sure the data will be worth its weight in dollars all too soon.” Loki didn’t seem to be the least bit upset. 

 

“How long do I have to watch my back?” Clint glanced at Natasha who rolled her eyes. 

 

“We’ll call this even for that little incident at the Prada,” he said then his voice hardened. “But I wouldn’t make a habit of it.” 

 

Message received and understood. “Since I’m stuck in a two mile radius for the near future, I think we can stay out of each other’s way.” 

 

“So I can’t drop by to … catch up? I do pass through on occasion,” Loki asked. 

 

“Call first?” Clint wasn’t sure what he wanted, but it always paid to leave all avenues open. “Just in case.” 

 

“That I can do,” Loki promised. “Ah, here’s my dinner. Gotha nott, Little Hawk.” 

 

“Well?” Natasha asked as soon as he cut the call. “He says all is well and wants to know if he can still make booty calls?”

 

“You’re scary, you know that?” Clint dropped his phone on the table. “And, no, I don’t believe he’s okay, but I don’t think he’s going to come after me head on.”

 

“Then he’ll come at us sideways,” she said. “We’ll have to keep an eye out.” 

 

The intercom by the door buzzed. “Barton? You up there?” came Coulson’s voice. “I’ve got food.”

 

Clint answered and buzzed him in. “Always here for food. Come on up.” 

 

Before he could turn, Natasha was already through the glass doors and onto the patio, swinging up to catch a ledge and climbing towards the roof. Clint did a quick sweep of the room -- only his one wine glass in view -- and unlocked the door. Carrying two brown paper sacks and a white plastic grocery bag, Coulson came in.  He was wearing jeans and a soft blue sweater, a sight that Clint filed away for future reference.     
  


“Thought it was my turn to spring for dinner.” He carefully put the bags on the table and began pulling out white styrofoam containers. “Didn’t know what you’d like, so I got Los Surena and Los Muchachos, plus some croquetas and tajadas.” 

 

“Caracas? You went all the way to the East Village?” Clint opened one container and the heavenly smell of chorizo and chimichurri sauce made his stomach growl. 

 

“Got some Bohemia beer to go with it,” Phil shrugged. “I had a craving and there’s always too much for one person. Plus, I know it’s outside your radius.”

 

Clint gave Phil a side-eyed look. “Why are you being nice to me? You’ve been avoiding me ever since the cocktail party and now we’re sharing arepas?” 

 

With a sigh that shook his shoulders, Phil stopped fiddling with the food and looked up. “I was upset you didn’t tell me about Loki, but then I realized that I immediately assumed you were helping steal the painting; trust is a two-way street. If we’re going to make this work, we’re both going to have a lot of changing to do.” 

 

A smile stole across Clint’s face. “Aw, Coulson, you just might have a heart after all,” he said, grabbing two plates and forks. “Be careful; next thing you know, you might even admit I’m right on occasion.”

 

“Don’t push it,” Phil replied. “And we’re not at work, so you can call me Phil.” 

 

“Yes, … Phil.” Clint rolled the name on his tongue, savoring the taste of it. “And I am sorry I upset you.” 

 

“Un-huh.” Phil popped a bite of fried plantain in his mouth and chewed. “Now, mind if I watch the game? Barcelona’s playing Valencia on the Livesoccer channel.”

 

“Oh, I see,” Clint said, joining Phil in loading up a plate. “You just want to use me for Stark’s cable. I get it.” 

 

“Pretty much.” Phil snagged a bottle of beer between two fingers and carried his food to the coffee table. “Bring the tajadas and croquetas, would you? The first half has already started.” 

 

“A soccer fan. What have I gotten myself into?” Clint mused aloud, taking a beer for himself. For the first time in days, his heart felt lighter. “You know Germany beat Argentina last year in the World Cup semis.”

 

“A fluke. Messi’s having a great year; they’re going all the way.” Phil kicked off his shoes and picked up his fork. “Trust me on that.” 

 

“You’re going to have to convince me,” Clint replied, sitting down beside him on the couch. 

 

“Give me time, and I will,” Phil promised. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nat is right ... now there's Loki out there as well as Stane. And, yeah, the whole backstory with Barney is lurking. It's fun to seed things in here for later. And there might even be heavy breathing ... ehem ... close quarters in the next one. :)


End file.
